The Strategic Scientific Reserve - Classified Files
by TheVelvetRose 1120
Summary: Howard Stark is more than a genius, millionaire, playboy, sort-of philanthropist. Peggy Carter is more than a woman working to make a living. Edwin Jarvis is more than an act of treason and a posh immigrant. Anna Jarvis is more than a Jewish girl with a crush. Daniel Sousa is more than an aluminum crutch. You just have to know where to look in order to truly see.
1. Chapter 1: Howard Stark

**A/N. Hi there :) I wrote this because I wanted to try and take Tony's claims of a 'cold' and 'calculating' father and see if I could make people hate Howard less. This is a character study on him. I hope I did him justice. I may add more chapters doing character studies from the Agent Carter series and/or various drabbles I imagined happened between scenes or episodes or perhaps just an event that is mentioned in the show but never elaborated on. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and please feel free to leave a review :)**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Agent Carter or the MCU or anything you recognize.**

"**Mr. Stark Is Also An Innocent Man"**

Howard Stark's greatest fear was that he'd be a father. Tony Stark's greatest fear was that he'd be a terrible father. Both fears were warranted.

Howard's father, Jasper, had been an abusive drunk. Howard didn't like to linger on the topic. That was what alcohol was for. Jasper had died shortly after Howard turned eighteen. The family business was left to the next in line. Howard didn't want it. So he made his own business. He was better at inventing and engineering than running a bar anyway. He was born for much greater things. That's what his mother always told him, anyway.

Howard made a name for himself (in more ways than one). He sold his father's company for a large sum of cash and made a huge sum of his own. He started getting cocky, confident, a little selfish. Now that his father wasn't around to tie him down or tell him "don't do this" and "don't do that", Howard was a free man – and he was going to enjoy it.

He lost touch with his mother over the years until their relationship was reduced to letters every so often (or not often at all). He slept with girls. He got drunk. He gambled. Not necessarily in that order.

He lived his life. He had fun.

He made weapons.

Sure, it wasn't the most ethical of jobs, but it made him a butt-load of money so why the hell not? It's not like he ever used them (on people). The second war came along and Stark Industries was booming better than ever. He was getting richer by the second.

He was even starting to make friends.

Sort of.

After trying to resolve an issue with a particularly prejudiced military general in Budapest, Howard discovered that an acquaintance was in a predicament with the same man – with higher stakes. Howard quite liked this man (for an acquaintance). The man was British, posh, extremely polite, and seemed to know exactly where he stood on the moral spectrum.

Years later, Howard would come to the conclusion that his decisions back then spawned from the fact that this man, Edwin Jarvis, was the exact opposite of Jasper.

Mr. Jarvis was trying to get General Stick-Up-His-Ass to sign papers in order to let a Jewish girl immigrate to America. General Jerk said no.

Unlike him, Howard was not so prejudiced. He slept with any girl, no matter her race or religion. They were all equal in his eyes.

In any case, Howard knew there were people out there better than him. Even in the lower classes. People like Mr. Jarvis. So Howard decided to help. _Why not?_ He had the money and the power and besides... he hadn't helped someone directly in a very long time.

Using his 'influence', as Mr. Jarvis had called it, Howard managed to immigrate both the Brit and his Jewish lady friend to America legally. Mostly.

Mr. Jarvis insisted on repaying him for his good deed. No matter how many times Howard tried to brush it off, the man would not let the matter go. So Howard came up with a deal: Mr. Jarvis could work off the debt until he felt it was repaid. Howard left it completely up to Mr. Jarvis to decide when that would be.

From that point onward, Mr. Jarvis had a job in America as Howard Stark's butler. But times were tough. Since Jarvis was working to pay off a debt, he didn't ask for money, which meant that he had to find a second job - and a third.

Howard took pity on the poor guy and started paying him.

At first, Jarvis refused, saying it was too much.

Howard lied and said that the amount was what he would pay a regular old butler.

Jarvis remained sceptical but he foresaw only desperation in his and his girlfriend's future and accepted the money. As a result, he worked extra hard to be the best butler he could be. Howard had to admit, Jarvis was a pretty damn good one.

"An ideal butler provides service without being asked," Jarvis always said.

Howard had to admit (only to himself) that now... he was just a _little_ bit less lonely.

Jarvis and his girlfriend, Anna, lived in one of the many properties Howard owned but never used. They were positively humbled by his generosity but to him it was nothing. He threw around money every day. This was no different.

Jarvis and Anna got married and invited Howard to the wedding. He regretfully missed it to attend an expo he was previously booked for. But he made it a point to congratulate them once later. It was rather awkward and he preferred not to think about it.

Then the war _really_ happened and Howard was stuck building weapons and reverse engineering Hydra technology, so on and so forth. It sucked up all of his time and he stopped seeing Jarvis every day. It started being once a week. Then a few times a month. Then Howard stopped counting.

In the next few years, Howard met and befriended Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers. They met in the most unconventional of ways. He was a Stark and a Stark's life is never boring.

If only he could get Jasper's smoky voice to stop repeating that stupid phrase.

He met Peggy by trying to woo her. She flat out refused him. She wasn't the first. He tried again. And again. And again. Every time, she refused him. He could find no trace of anger, resentment, or signs of retaliation. All he saw was annoyance, flattery, and amusement. So he kept at it. Somewhere along the way, they became friends. He never did sleep with her.

He met Steve by getting him hopped up on drugs and pumping him full of blue stuff. He saw him again later, when Steve was Captain America, and soon they were working together to bring down those Hydra bastards.

Howard took great pride in fighting in this war. Maybe too much pride.

He helped build the biggest bombs the world had ever seen and at the time, it seemed like a good idea. Now, it haunts him.

Before his ghosts came back to bite him, Howard tried to get Steve drunk. It was a challenging endeavour in which he never succeeded. He was proud to say that over the course of his many attempts, he became friends with Captain America.

Steve was the best man he ever knew. Once again, so opposite to his father.

Steve was courageous, brave, selfless, kind, loyal, honest, caring, and so damn patriotic it was crazy. He was a character that anyone and everyone came to admire. Steve was brilliant with military strategy and willing to put his life on the line time and time again for the good of his country. For the good of anyone.

Howard was jealous. But he could never hate Steve.

Howard wanted to be that guy. He wanted to be liked by everyone and he wanted to make others proud. But he knew he would never be that guy. Steve was that guy. But Steve always gave him hope that one day... he could be better.

And then Steve died.

Howard wasn't stupid. Wars meant men died. Hundreds, thousands, hundreds _of_ thousands of men died. But he had never lost anyone he cared about. Not like this.

It had been a good couple years where Steve went in and came back out with ease. There was a close call that one time but otherwise the serum made him practically invincible. Howard had almost believed it to be true.

Until V.E. Day.

While everyone was celebrating, he mourned the loss of a great man who sacrificed himself to save the people in New York. Steve was a great man, to the last second. His body was lost forever.

Well. Howard had something to say about that - after drowning himself with alcohol a few nights in a row. And then doing it all over again with Peggy on a Saturday night at the Stork Club because they both made plans with a man who was always late but not this time, even though they both prayed he would be.

He searched. Every day, Howard searched.

Steve Rogers was his hope that he could be a better man. Without Steve, without Captain America, Howard was just another rich sleaze ball. So he searched.

He found the cube. His rational side made him hand it over to the S.S.R. but his irrational side was screaming at him to take it for himself and experiment on it – maybe he could use it to find Steve. He restrained himself. He knew this was a useless task. But it was a task, nonetheless.

He kept at it for another several weeks. Peggy tried to talk him out of it but he refused. They had a big fight about it until she knocked him on his ass and dragged him out of there. He woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom two days later.

Peggy came in and eyed him with that _look_ that asked him if he'd been sleeping.

He smiled sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes.

A few days after that, Howard went home for the first time in what felt like forever. He worked up the nerve to call Jarvis and let him know he was okay. Jarvis and Anna came to visit that very day and they all had tea and it was all very... _normal_. Howard didn't do normal. Normal was weird.

He made sure to keep them at a distance. He wouldn't lose himself like he did with Steve. He would make sure to stay detached. Or try to, anyway.

He kept searching for Steve for a whole year. Then he was forced to run.

His secret vault of volatile inventions was robbed. That meant the world was screwed. He was slightly relieved when they started turning up on the black market. At least no one was using them yet. Maybe he could buy them back under an alias.

Then the Strategic Scientific Reserve, the very organization he'd worked so hard to help (alongside Steve), accused him of putting them out there on purpose. The nerve of some people.

He denied it. They wouldn't listen.

_ Idiots._

He needed someone on the inside. Someone he trusted. Someone capable. Peggy Carter came to mind. She was perfect. And no one would suspect her because she was a dame.

He entrusted the mission of recovering the stolen items that were still in America to her, leaving Jarvis in her care. Jarvis was also someone he trusted immensely and this was no one person job.

So the search for dear Steve was put on hold while Howard fled to Europe to track down some of his inventions that had already been sold.

He spent the next several years of his life trying to make up for lost time.

He just kept thinking, _If I find Steve, everything will be okay._

Steve was dead by now. It was a sure thing. There was no way anyone could survive being out there for more than a year. But Howard couldn't stop. _If I find Steve, everything will be okay._

Steve's corpse would no doubt curse him to eternal nightmares but Howard realized it wasn't really the body he wanted. It was proof. _If I find Steve, everything will be okay._

It took him nearly twenty years to settle down. Maria was another dame he slept with. He took her dancing first, which wasn't unusual for him. He liked to treat a lady to a good time. But there was something different about her. He took her back to his place and kissed her passionately.

Then she pulled away and wished him goodnight. "I'll be by tomorrow for breakfast." She waved and was gone.

Howard was stumped. _Do I smell or something?_

The next morning, he spent a little bit longer in front of the mirror and almost made it to the door before Jarvis did (he wanted to impress her by showing her he had a butler). Maria was greeted with the utmost politeness and led inside.

They had a lovely breakfast together after which Howard suggested they go upstairs. She rejected the proposal and said she'd be back again the next day. Before he could ask her why she kept coming back, she was gone.

_Was it the food?_ He wondered.

They developed a routine. Every morning before work, Howard and Maria ate together. Eventually, Jarvis stopped dropping by and Howard stopped needing other people to cook for him.

Howard and Maria became friends.

A year later, Howard asked to court her officially.

The next morning, she accepted.

They were attached at the hip ever since.

His business boomed and started to attract more and more of his attention. Maria started getting involved and Howard decided to leave the search for Steve to some of his more trusted employees. He was a very busy man, after all. But he never forgot.

It took him nearly three years, but he finally convinced Maria to marry him. He thought he was in the clear. No kids meant that he had time to do other, more important things.

It meant he'd never abuse a child.

But then it happened.

Maria was much younger than he was, so when he was forty-eight, she was thirty-seven. They grew overconfident. They neglected protection one night. BAM. She was pregnant.

They'd had this talk ages ago. Neither of them wanted kids. Ever. They were perfectly fine living their lives to the fullest. They were too busy to raise a child. What kind of environment would this be, anyway? What was the point? Captain America wasn't even alive to be a role model for the kid.

They also decided that if they had one by accident, they would not give him up. Not at first. They'd give it a shot, see if they could raise him without too much trouble. If he demanded too much attention, they'd find someone to give it to him.

But on Friday March 29th, 1970, Howard and Maria grew attached to their new baby boy.

And it scared them.

They knew now that they could never give him up. They were too selfish for that. But they also couldn't give up their lives just for the baby. They were too selfish for that. They had work to do. Important work.

Howard still hadn't found Steve.

Anthony Edward Stark just so happened to want more attention than his parents could give him. Howard and Maria travelled a lot and couldn't afford to stop working. To stop working meant less money and less money meant less happiness for everyone. They were too selfish for that. Whenever they left, they entrusted Jarvis and Anna with little Tony.

Howard wasn't the father-type. The most caring he had ever been was when he cried over Steve's death. Howard talked to Steve sometimes. He'd look up at the sky and wonder if he was listening. If he was saying something that Howard couldn't hear. Stark feared that he would be like his own father and kept his distance. He didn't talk much to Tony when he was a baby. What was the point, really, when the baby couldn't talk back? It wasn't like Tony understood him.

The press went crazy when they heard. Howard and Maria Stark, famous C.E.O.s of Stark Industries, finally had an heir. Neither parent wanted their son anywhere near those cameras. So they kept him at home with Mr. Jarvis and 'Nanny Anna' to shield him from the wrath of the media.

The years passed and suddenly Tony could talk. He sounded pretty British, which irked Maria to no end. She claimed that Tony was American through and through and should sound like it. Howard berated Tony for upsetting his mother. What else was he supposed to do? Encourage him to act British?

Whenever Howard was home, he would sit Tony on his lap and tell stories of Captain America. He would relay the brave tales of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos in a fashion not unlike that dumb radio program that used to play all those years ago (the one Peggy absolutely loathed). Tony always sat with rapt attention, enjoying their time together.

One day, Howard found out that his search team had given up looking for Steve ages ago and hadn't told him. Howard was furious. After firing each and every employee involved and even some that just walked by him in his anger, he stormed home. Tony immediately tried to get his attention but Howard was too pissed off to care.

Tony held up a toy and Howard smacked it away. "Not now, kid. I'm not in the mood to play your stupid games!" He slammed the door behind him.

Later, when he calmed down, Maria urged him to apologize. Howard found Tony cuddled up on Jarvis' lap and sleeping as the butler read him a story. Howard didn't want to disturb the peaceful image and let them be.

He never did apologize.

When Tony was taller, he claimed to have built a prototype engine.

Howard scoffed. He himself couldn't even build an engine until he was well into his teens. Obviously Tony was lying. He scolded Tony for making stuff up and refused to see any 'proof'. He didn't have time to look at a toy. He had to get these papers together for S.H.I.E.L.D. The organization was coming along nicely (had been for more than a decade) and Howard was _not_ going to mess that up. S.H.I.E.L.D. Represented Captain America. It was a way to shape the world into something Steve would be proud of. Howard was dedicated to this project (maybe even obsessed). Every day of the year, he worked to make the world a better place. Every day except one.

Every year for Halloween, Tony would emerge from his bedroom dressed as Captain America with a big, toothy grin on his face. Maria could never stop taking pictures. Howard would smile wistfully and grab his son's hand so they could go trick-or-treating.

Halloween was always Tony's favourite holiday.

Howard thought it was because he could dress up as Captain America.

They spent the evening together, collecting candy and remembering old times. This happened every year. And every year, Howard wished Steve was there to see it.

Tony grew older and Howard began to see that his little boy was actually really smart. Almost as smart as his old man. He tried to get Tony interested in work at S.H.I.E.L.D. But the kid was just starting a rebellious phase that Howard never saw coming. Tony stopped caring about 'those same old stupid Captain America junk' and Howard stopped caring to tell them.

How could Tony think like that? After everything Howard told him? It _hurt_ to think of someone resenting Steve for no reason. Steve was a good man who didn't deserve Tony's random hatred.

He complained about it to Peggy once or twice but she kept looking at him with what he thought was pity. _That can't be right_. He stopped bringing it up.

Tony had always liked 'Aunt Peggy'. But he still didn't want anything to do with Captain Rogers. He even had the nerve to burn his old Halloween costume. Howard had been devastated and grounded Tony for a month.

When Tony was old enough to go to high school, he was smart enough to go to college. So Howard sent him off to M.I.T. Now he could finally focus on his work without the distraction of a kid in his way.

He based a lot of his inventions and ideas on his son. He couldn't help it. Tony was always in the back of his mind.

No one ever knew where his inspiration came from.

Howard wrote letters and called occasionally while Tony was away but Tony never replied. On the off chance he picked up his phone, the two of them would have an awkward conversation and then hang up five minutes later.

_He's so old_, Howard would think. _I'M so old._

It never occurred to him that Tony had grown so fast because Howard only saw him every so often.

At seventeen years old, Tony graduated M.I.T. At the top of his class and had made friends with some guy named James. Howard did a background check and approved.

As S.H.I.E.L.D grew, so did Stark Industries. Howard and his long-time partner/kind-of-friend Obadiah Stane, with the help of Maria, rose to the top. In his will, Howard entrusted the business to Obadiah until (if ever) Tony decided to take over as C.E.O. Howard wouldn't force it on him like Jasper tried to do with Howard.

Tony and Obadiah were companionable and Howard couldn't help but be a little jealous. His own relationship with Tony was strained at best and that was never what he wanted. He just wanted to Tony to be like Steve. Was that really such an unreasonable request? Steve was someone everyone should strive to be like. So why couldn't Tony?

A few years later, Howard and Maria decided to take their son by surprise and visit him in his house. They denied Jarvis' offer of acting as chauffeur and drove there themselves.

Or tried to.

They never made it all the way there.

Howard lasted maybe ten seconds after seeing Maria's mangled body. He grabbed her hand.

_I love you, son. Good-bye._


	2. Chapter 2: Jack Thompson

**A/N. Hello! As promised, here is the character study for Agent Jack Thompson. It's rather short, but that's what I wanted. I think he's more attractive when he's mysterious ;) All the dialogue is not mine and is from one of the final scenes of episode 8 "Valediction". So, spoilers if you haven't seen the finale, I suppose. Hope you enjoy :D**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Agent Carter or any of the dialogue**

"Which one o' you fellas… is Jack Thompson?"

Jack turned at the sound of his name, hands still on his hips. Several men in suits and hats stood just in front of the doorway, looking around as if they could recognize him when Jack had never seen any of them in his life. "That's me," he said, walking over. He could feel Carter and Sousa's eyes on him, as well as every other agent in the room.

The man closest to him removed his hat and held out a hand, a bright and proud smile on his face. "Walt Cooper. United States Senate."

_A senator? What's he doing here?_ Jack shook his hand, opening his mouth to voice this very question. "Walt-"

"I just wanted to come down here and personally commend you for the fine work you and your team did." _Oh no._ "An attack on Times Square could've been a calamity. What I hear is that you saved thousands of lives."

Jack's stomach was twisted in knots and he turned to look at Peggy and Daniel over his shoulder. The two of them exchanged a glance that Jack couldn't read. He turned back to the Senator.

"This city and the country owe you a great debt." Cooper turned and raised his voice, addressing the entirety of the S.S.R. "We need more men like Jack Thompson; fighting for freedom and security. You're all lucky that you work for him." He beamed at Jack.

It was so… innocent. Cooper didn't know the truth – that Peggy did all the hard work. After everything she went through, she deserved this. The recognition. The acknowledgement of her importance and her crucial role. She should be standing here, not him.

Although, she didn't do it alone. Daniel helped as well. He was the one who trusted Peggy the most and he saved Jack's life. Jack owed him this much.

_It wasn't me, Sir. I can't take the credit for something I didn't do._ Not again. He wanted to tell the senator about the others. He wanted to so badly it hurt. Acid dripped along the insides of his stomach and he shifted uncomfortably. He could feel two pairs of eyes burning into his back.

"_Everybody thinks that I'm this guy that I never was. And every day it gets harder and harder to live with."_ He'd told Peggy those words and they were never truer than they were right now. If he let the senator believe he did this, it would be taking the credit all over again. It would be him receiving a medal of honour for murdering innocents. It would be willingly crossing over to the dark side.

He couldn't do that. The guilt would eat him alive. Why should he? He'd gotten knocked on his ass and Sousa had had to save him. Jack didn't deserve any credit. Peggy did.

But it took the S.S.R. this long to believe she was good for more than getting lunch orders. How long would it take for others to believe it without seeing it for themselves? Jack was still trying to wrap his head around it.

And Sousa? No one would believe he had been of any help either. He was a cripple in their eyes. Half a man. They were wrong. But would they see that?

Jack was not a convincing kind of guy. If he wanted to persuade you to do something, the most effective way was to beat the crap out of you. That technique did not apply here. He would never be able to tell the senator what really happened and not have laughter as he defended a mere woman and a broken former soldier.

It wasn't so much the laughter that would bother him so much as the disbelief. Even if, by some crazy miracle, Cooper believed him, the rest of the government or the U.S. or Truman probably wouldn't. Peggy and Daniel wouldn't get the recognition they deserved either way. They would only be ridiculed if he told these guys the truth.

But did _he _deserve the recognition in their place? The answer was easy. No. No he didn't. Yet he was the only one in a position to accept this… "honour". No matter how much it pained him, it seemed he would be taking the credit for something he didn't do – again.

At least this time they didn't do anything wrong. This time was different. He was protecting Sousa and Carter. He was doing this for them. "Just did what needed to be done."

He accepted the medal last time because he was too ashamed to admit his mistake. Maybe it was also to protect the dignity of the army and his fellow soldiers. If he'd fessed up, no one would look at the soldiers the same way. They would see blundering idiots and murderers and even if sometimes that was exactly what they were, no one wanted anyone to think that.

Senator Cooper shook his hand again, seeming so damn _proud _of him that Jack had to hold back a cringe. He grabbed Thompson's shoulder affectionately and began to lead him toward the back of the room, toward Dooley's old office. "If you play your cards right, son, you could get a congressional honour outta this situation."

That was the last thing he wanted. Not like this. But being honoured, despite the guilt, did feel pretty good. It was part of what kept him from blabbing after he'd received his "recognition" the first time.

"The President wants to thank you himself."

His eyebrows rose. "Hm. You mean if someone'll vote for him." He cracked a smile. Getting recognized for something good that he took part in, even if it was exaggerated, couldn't be that bad.

Cooper laughed, light and bright.

Jack smiled at him, genuine. "C'mon into my office. I'll make ya a coffee."

So maybe he was a little selfish. So maybe he was also being selfish for the good of others. He wasn't crossing over to the dark side. He was crossing over to the realistic side.

America needed someone to bask in the glory – someone who would soak it up and use that glory for good. Peggy and Daniel weren't ones to bask in the spotlight. Jack would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy some limelight himself. So really he wasn't that bad of a guy.

He just had bad side.

But if you asked him, it was his realistic side.


	3. Chapter 3: Daniel Sousa

**The Effects of Metal**

**A/N. Hello! Here's a brief look into my speculation of what might be Daniel's mindset after the season finale. Hope you enjoy :)**

"And who _are _you?"

_No one special_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. Who was he? Was he Daniel Sousa or was he just… his injury? Captain Rogers was more than his vibranium shield, so logic followed that Daniel Sousa was more than his aluminum crutch. Right? Wrong, unfortunately. Well, Daniel tried to make it right, but it didn't always work.

When people looked at Steve Rogers holding his shield, all they saw was Captain America. When they looked at Daniel with his crutch, all they saw was a cripple. The two cases were so different, but at the same time they were exactly the same.

Daniel just wanted to be seen for who he was as a person and what he could do _as_ that person, not what he _couldn't_ do. It was just so _frustrating_ when people made assumptions about him.

_Oh, Sir, do you need help with that?_

_ Thank you for your service, Sir. I'm so sorry for the loss of your leg._

_ What about that guy over there? He's pretty handso- oh, wait- never mind._

Ugh. If he could just kick someone's ass and watch all of their faces when he did it, he would die a happy man.

Well, not really, but you get the picture.

When Daniel came home to his family… he'd been so excited. He couldn't wait to see his mom and Dad and his little sister. God, he'd missed them so much. He walked in the door, yelled, "I'm home!" and everyone came rushing down the stairs.

Ma had been so happy to see him. She'd shown up first and she looked a little older and the grey hairs were more prominent but she was just the same as he'd left her. She launched herself at him, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, and he'd hugged her so tightly that he didn't even care that she was currently keeping him balanced. She'd let go and he'd been crushed by a hug from his Pa and then…

Then his sister bounded down the stairs, a child on her hip. She'd looked up, eyes full of hope and love… and saw his crutch leaning against the wall by his bags. The sparkle in her baby blues diminished and she looked crestfallen. That's when his parents noticed it too.

Everyone started crying for him and he tried to reassure them that he was fine and that it didn't hurt as much as anyone thought it did. They were all devastated and they just felt so bad for him… He couldn't take the pity. He knew they meant well, but the horror in their eyes…

He had to get out of there. He moved out pretty quickly. They told him he wasn't the same. He was different. Maybe it was for the best. There was fear in all of their eyes. He was a killer now. They were afraid of him, but they were reassured by his _leg_. He couldn't hurt them because he was a _cripple_.

He had the family over every now and then, but they were all distant now. Even his sister. They'd been so close before the war… Now she looked at him like a stranger. He wanted to scream at her, _"I'm the same person!"_ Nothing would change her mind. And her fiancé, ugh, don't even get Daniel _started_ on that son of a…

Right, well, let's just say that that man didn't exactly approve of Daniel's 'problem'. He thought that Daniel couldn't do a single thing for himself and while he didn't carry any pity, he carried enough dislike to make up for it. Apparently, Daniel was only 'part man' now.

Shut up.

Daniel's niece, little Kayla, was the only one who saw him exactly the same as before. Granted, she probably didn't remember him before the war, but she sure as hell acted like he was just some normal person. He was her favourite (and only) uncle and she loved coming over to play with him. Her father kept her from coming too frequently, but Daniel saw her enough to keep his hope for humanity alive.

Kayla reminded him that not everyone judged others by their appearances. Daniel himself used to be one of those people, but then he got shot and everything changed. He understood now what it was like to be hated for no good reason. To be sneered at because of some physical "oddity".

He made it a point to say hi to the coloured people. He had to make sure they knew that all people, specifically white men, weren't all prejudiced jackasses. It wasn't just race or disability, it was also gender. So when he met Peggy Carter, he treated her like his equal because now he knew that she was one.

Maybe not physically, if he was being realistic, but intellectually and emotionally and in every way that mattered. She faced way more discrimination than him and she did it with her head held high. She was so inspiring. She inspired him to turn the other cheek because it was the right thing to do. Whenever he needed to keep his anger in check, he thought of Peggy. What would she do in this situation? Probably not beat them to a bloody pulp.

Huh. Maybe she was rubbing off on him in more ways than one.

Man, what a dame. A beautiful, tough, smart, independent gal who saw him for who he was on the inside, not the outside. Was it really so hard to believe that he'd fallen for her? Maybe it was just because she was the first woman to show _some_ interest in him, friendly or not, since his leg. But damn it, she was just too good to be true.

But of course, there was Captain freaking America to compete with and Daniel couldn't compete with that. Peggy knew Steve Rogers, not his shield, not his alter ago, not his persona… just Steve. What she saw must have been an unprejudiced man who treated her right. Daniel was that too, but he was no hero. No medals here. Not like Jack. He was just… a soldier.

A broken one and not just because of his leg. But Peggy was a soldier too. Would that help? Maybe. But she'd said no to his offer to go out… still. Maybe they could be good… coworkers. Friendly coworkers. There had to be some other gal out there for him. Peggy couldn't be _it_. Could she?

Kayla didn't seem to think so. "No matter what, you'll always have me, Uncle Danny," she'd say. That was just too damn adorable to deny. He would always have his niece, if anything.

Now that this whole "Stark business" was over and done with, Daniel could get back to his job and his life. But this time, he would do it with friends. Jack had learned to see Daniel for his abilities, not his disability, and although that man was stubborn and a tad too arrogant, they held a mutual respect for each other now. Daniel and Peggy were closer. Not as close as he'd like, but close enough. He would go so far as to say they were friends.

Daniel had friends. It was… nice.

Peggy had introduced him to Rose and she was certainly pleasant to chat with in the mornings before he had his coffee. Very cheery, that one. There was a whole world of friendly possibilities that he never dared explore before now. It was nice to know.

Life was good. Not amazing, but good. People still pitied or glared at him, underestimated and insulted him, but he was learning to deal. A whole year had gone by and if he lasted this long, what was another year? And the one after that?

He wouldn't let his crutch define who he was as a person. Yes, it was a part of him now, but it wasn't the only part, nor was it the dominant one. He was just… Daniel: a mish-mash of things that made up who he was.

"My name is Daniel Sousa. I work for the S.S.R," he replied crisply.

"And what's that?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "You gotta know what it stands for by now."

"Tell me again," he urged, pushing up his glasses with the hand that held the pencil. The lead hovered over the pad in his lap.

Daniel sighed. "The Strategic… Scientific… Reserve," he said deliberately slowly.

The therapist scratched it down on paper. "Continue."

Daniel's knee (his good one) twitched. "I was a soldier in the war-"

"Which war?"

Gosh darn it, this man was hard not to snap at. _Which war do you think?_ "The war against the Nazis," he answered. That should be good enough. It was. "I got shot on the front lines. The pain exploded in my knee and I knew then that things would never be the same. From that point onward…" He droned on in a robotic voice, repeating the words he'd spoken to this very person every week since he came home. Ma had wanted him to see a professional about his "nightmares". The Sousa family wasn't well off, not by a long shot. But, well, they were better off than most. They got him a psychologist and Daniel hated him.

_Not hate,_ his mother would chide, _hate is what drove the Nazis to do the things they did. It's just a very strong dislike._

Daniel very much disliked his therapist.

"And how did that make you feel?"

Ugh. "You know, I can't count how many times you've asked me that question," he snapped, lifting his jaw from his hand for the first time since the session started.

The therapist, Dr. Johnson, didn't even blink. "I can."

Daniel snorted. "Of course you can."

"Would you please answer the question?"

"I already have."

"Today."

"No."

Johnson sighed. "Daniel, we've been over this."

"I know we have! I think we're done here."

"No. We're not. You've been thinking quite a bit all session, but you haven't said a word of any of that to me. That's what I'm here for."

"Were you in the war, Dr. Johnson?"

"I was."

"Then you know I've told you everything."

"Yes, about the war, but not about what happens now. How's life, Agent Sousa?"

Daniel eyed Johnson warily. "How's life?" He asked in disbelief.

"Yes, how's life?"

"… good, I guess."

"Elaborate. Please."

"Aren't you supposed to be "assessing" my nightmares?"

"Maybe what haunts you isn't at night, but during the day."

Daniel licked his lips. Nothing haunted him during the day. Unless it was a _really bad day_. "… Life is good because… because it is. I've… come to terms with my… _injury_ and what people will think of me for it. I've got my eyes on a great gal and I've started going for drinks with the guys at work where I actually participate in the conversation. I finally proved my value as an agent and my flashbacks are less frequent." He quickly closed his mouth. That was more than he meant to say. But it was all true.

Johnson smiled and closed his notebook. "I think we're done here."

Daniel gaped. "Seriously?"

The doctor nodded in response. "Seriously. You've shown considerable improvement since our first session, but today you've proved to me that you don't need me anymore. What you've needed all this time, was someone to prove to you that you're worth something. That couldn't come from me because you'd think I was just telling you what you want to hear. Now that you have, I think you're good to go, Agent."

Daniel floundered for a bit before grabbing his crutch and pushing himself to his feet. "I- uh, thank you, Dr. Johnson." Maybe dislike was a strong word. He shook Johnson's hand firmly.

"I really had nothing to do with it. I tried to help you the old fashioned way, but you're just not an old fashioned guy, I suppose." Huh, maybe. "But if you ever feel the need to just… talk, give me a ring or pop by any time. I'll be here."

Daniel smiled in gratitude, though for what, really, he wasn't sure. "Thanks, Doc. I'll… I'll see 'round."

"Good-bye, Daniel."

So Daniel Sousa hobbled out of the office with a bright smile on his face and a good future ahead of him, no matter what anyone said or thought. He remembered Peggy and his smile grew wider. She must have been it. She showed him that he could be someone others were proud of, not looked down upon. She made him better. That kind of screwed him over and made him ridiculously happy at the same time.

She helped him realize that he was more than an aluminum crutch. He was Daniel Sousa, S.S.R. agent, brother, son, uncle, soldier, worker, charmer, and all around good guy. No hunk of metal would ever change that.


	4. Chapter 4: Edwin Jarvis

**A/N. Hello! I'm going to try and finish this within the next month, so I'll be working on this for a bit. Here's my favourite Agent Carter character: Edwin Jarvis! I loved him in the show xD This one's more like the Howard Stark oneshot in that in that it chronicles Jarvis' life until his death. It's quite long, too (because he's my favourite!). I hope you guys enjoy it :D**

**As for upcoming character drabbles, I'll probably do Anna Jarvis, Angie Martinelli, Dottie Underwood, Roger Dooley, and, of course, Peggy Carter. Any suggestions? Let me know :)**

**Disclaimer - I do not own Agent Carter**

**More Then the Ideal Butler**

Edwin Jarvis was often underestimated. Well, perhaps that wasn't the right word. Nearly everyone made quick assumptions about him, though he admitted that at least half of them were usually right. But the most common assumption bothered him the most.

Despite owing Howard Stark a debt that he could never repay, Edwin was not a servant (no matter how often he complained to himself that he felt like one). Edwin had a mind of his own, if you cared to look past the tailored suit, coiffed hair, and posh accent (it wasn't posh to him, but it seemed to give people a certain impression). He could make his own choices and he had his own personality. He was not just Mr. Stark's shadow.

He'd had a life before Mr. Stark. He'd been to the Himalayas, not that anybody bothered to ask. He had family back in Britain that he'd chosen to leave behind in favour of getting Anna to safety.

Sometimes he wondered if he should have stayed and faced the consequences of his actions, letting Anna go free. He wrote his parents letters under an alias because he was only slightly paranoid that he would get deported. They forgave him after only a year of separation and dozens of pages of apologies and begging for forgiveness.

His relationship with his parents had never been the same. Occasionally, he could _feel_ the falseness dripping from their letters in black ink, their voices whispering in his ear that they _still_ hadn't forgiven him.

On nights such as these, Anna would hold him closely in bed and stroke his hair, murmuring sweet nothings by candlelight. She often sang him lullabies that helped him sleep, soothing his worries and regrets.

He loved Anna very much. He had known from the moment he saw her that she was different. She was beautiful, as many women were, but Edwin was attracted not only to her looks, but to her personality. She spoke to him in an accent that intrigued him and with every word she said, he wanted her to say more. He thought of her often and knew within a week that he wanted to court her. It only took a week after that to know that he wanted to marry her (eventually).

In order to see her often, he had to negotiate with General Hart. Edwin worked as an aide for him, performing tasks with startling diversity. General Hart had stated early on in their agreement that there was to be no interaction between except for work purposes, to which Edwin readily agreed. He didn't much like the General, but he could be tolerated if needed.

Ironically, General Hart was one of the most heartless men Edwin had ever had the displeasure of meeting. He was prejudiced, stubborn, ignorant, thick-skulled, and gruff. He had refused to help Anna out of the country, which Edwin could understand, but he didn't have to be so _mean_ about it.

Edwin was going to save Anna no matter what it took. He would not let anyone do to Anna what they were doing to other Jewish people throughout Europe. He had heard awful horror stories and… and…

That could never be Anna. He swore on his Nana's grave that she would never be in one of those stories because she would be far away from any threat. He vowed that he would keep her out of danger no matter what it took. He promised her one night under the stars that he would get her to safety. That very night, he went to her father and told him about his plans, expecting to be thrown out. Anna had clutched at his arm determinedly. Her father had stared for a long time. Then he'd sighed.

"Protect my daughter," he ordered sternly, but softly. "Or I will swim to America and find you," he threatened, his beady eyes narrowing further.

Edwin nodded firmly. "I will do everything that it takes and more to make sure Anna is safe."

With the help of Mr. Stark, he had.

Edwin's meeting with Mr. Stark was… odd. He'd been doing a task the General was supposed to be doing, sitting in Hart's office scribbling for hours on end, when Mr. Stark barged in. "-better give me what I want or-!" He stopped.

Edwin and Mr. Stark stared at each other.

"You're not Hart," said Mr. Stark, staring at him.

"You're not blind," said Edwin. He couldn't help it. He was frustrated! General Hart had forced all of this paperwork onto Edwin, half of which needed Hart's signature, which Edwin had to forge. Not to mention that it was a beautiful day outside and he was going to be late for his dinner with Anna. Despite his gloomy mood, he bowed his head and apologized. "I am sorry. That was uncalled for."

Mr. Stark had laughed. "Not a problem. Know where I can find Hart? I've got a bone to pick with that guy." His American accent had threw Edwin for a moment.

Edwin had blinked and pointed his pen at the wall to his right. "Down the hall, to your right," he'd responded. "Though I suggest you knock this time."

Mr. Stark then barked out another laugh. "Sure thing." He'd waved with one hand, the other stuffed in his pants pocket, as he turned to leave. "Thanks, ol' chap!"

Edwin's brows had knit together. "Um, you're very welcome?"

Mr. Stark had gone.

The next time they met, Mr. Stark had recognized him and seen his predicament immediately. Edwin had forged General Hart's signature to write a letter of transit for Anna to get out of Hungary and somewhere safe. Before she could get anywhere, though, Edwin had been caught and accused of treason. Those were an awful several days. That was when Mr. Stark showed up with apparently another bone to pick. He recognized Edwin immediately and recognized that they had a common enemy "I liked you then, hopefully I like you now."

He did, luckily. Mr. Stark, Anna, and Edwin were on a plane West within the week (somewhat illegally) and Edwin was dishonourably discharged. To this day, he still hated that his family name had been tainted by his deed, but it had to have tried.

When they'd arrived in New York, Edwin had thanked Mr. Stark profusely and demanded to know how he could repay him. At first, Mr. Stark had tried to blow him off, but Edwin was persistent and more determined than people realized. He wore Mr. Stark down until they had a deal that Edwin could work off the debt.

They got married soon after, and while their wedding plans had been rushed and more private than they'd hoped (and in America), it was still a wonderful ceremony. Howard had regretfully missed it due to an expo he'd had to attend, but Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis easily forgave him. Come to think of it, they forgive him for many things.

When Edwin became Mr. Stark's butler, Edwin gave his new job one hundred percent of his effort and then some. He was so grateful to Mr. Stark, no matter how pompous and arrogant the man was, and Edwin just wanted to show his gratitude. As it turned out, he was "the ideal butler", according to Mr. Stark. Edwin felt rather proud that all of those things Nana had taught him had come in handy.

Some people thought what he'd learned to do as a butler made him "feminine", but Anna happened to appreciate all of the things that he did around the house. He wanted to help her and make sure that she didn't do all of the chores. He knew that she'd faced some prejudice in Budapest and he needed her to feel equal on all fields; that he would never be prejudiced towards her. So they did the housework together and Anna tried to find a job (unsuccessfully) and they danced around the kitchen and fed each other messy foods and helped each other dress. Anna was very good at tying ties and he loved tying bows in her hair (and untying them on her dress, but that was neither here nor there).

They were as in love as could be, but since Edwin was working for Mr. Stark to work off the debt, he wasn't getting paid, which meant that despite their expensive penthouse, they were dirt poor. Edwin took it upon himself to provide for his wife and found a second job – and a third. He was hardly ever home anymore and Anna was getting irritated with him. They fought whenever he was home, beat and tired and awake despite everything. He came into bed every night after twelve, sleeping for only a handful of hours on his side of the bed, facing away from his wife, before he got up early to go to work again.

One night, he was able to get off at eight forty-five in the evening and he raced home. Anna always went to bed at nine and for once, he wanted to be able to go with her. He burst through the front door at quarter past, rushing to the bedroom excitedly. Maybe they could have one night without fighting.

When he opened the door, she was fast asleep, cuddling her pillow by a flickering candle on the nightstand. The flame danced, illuminating the tear tracks on her cheeks. Edwin froze. He had done that. He was making enough money, but at what cost?

He silently closed the door, sliding down to the floor. He would talk to Mr. Stark tomorrow and ask to be relieved of his duties as his butler. Despite Mr. Stark himself being rather irritating, Edwin had grown quite fond of Mr. Stark. Their friendship had been altered by their positions as butler and Master, but Edwin considered Mr. Stark a friend. Edwin _liked_ being a butler, specifically Mr. Stark's butler, but the job didn't pay and Anna was more important to him than a job.

Not feeling like he deserved to sleep next to her, Edwin fell asleep on the couch, plagued by guilt, folded uncomfortably into the cushions. He was too tall for this, but it didn't matter because he wouldn't disturb Anna with his presence – not until he'd fixed everything between them.

As it turned out, Mr. Stark told him the next day that Edwin had more than paid off his debt, to which Edwin was about to thank him and be on his way, but Mr. Stark offered him the job – permanently. With pay. Astronomical pay, if Edwin was being honest. He wanted to refuse that much money, but Mr. Stark had said that that was the going rate for butlers these days. Edwin had a sneaking suspicion that he was lying, but Edwin thought back to Anna's tears and quickly accepted Mr. Stark's offer before the man could change his mind.

He quit his other two jobs and returned home to his wife at six p.m. He hung up his hat on the coatrack and hooked his jacket on the same one, slipping off his shoes. He made sure to be as quiet as possible. He wanted to surprise her.

He found her in the kitchen, humming to herself as she cooked dinner. There was always leftovers for him when he got home and he always ate it, even if he was never hungry at that time of night. In his absence, Anna had to take up all of the housework. To her credit, she hadn't complained about that, but she _had_ complained that she missed him terribly.

Edwin leaned in the doorway and waited for her to spot him, a smile ghosting on his lips. When she turned, she dropped the whisk she'd been about to toss into the sink and gasped. The whisk clattered to the floor, batter splashing a little onto her dress. She ignored it in favour of clutching her heart and gripping the counter behind her. "Edwin, you scared me!"

He couldn't keep his lips from turning upward as he approached, carefully avoiding the batter on the floor. "I'm sorry, Darling," he said, only a foot from her now. "But I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you've certainly done that," she admitted, calming down. She picked up the whisk and when she stood, he was closer than before, mere inches from her. She craned her neck to look up at him, green eyes blinking curiously. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," he teased. He was in a very good mood, which didn't happen often these days. He slid his hands to her waist and brought them closer.

She slapped his arm half-heartedly with the hand that wasn't holding the whisk. "I meant at this time of day. Shouldn't you be _working_?" She said the last word with a hint of disdain.

Edwin's smile grew larger. "I quit."

She nearly dropped the whisk again. "You what?"

"I quit," he repeated, enjoying the shock on her face. "Both of them."

"But… but…" She stammered.

"Mr. Stark has offered to pay me for my services as his butler. With… mostly regular hours." He explained, blue eyes twinkling.

"So… you'll be home at this time… almost every day?" Her voice wavered, though with what, he couldn't be sure.

He nodded. "And Mr. Stark pays _very_ well."

Tears sprung to her eyes and she launched herself at him. He swung her around their kitchen, but slipped on the spilled batter and they both came crashing down rather ungracefully. They laughed it off and kissed all the way to the bedroom.

From that point onward, Edwin returned home to have dinner waiting for him on the table and a lovely wife there to chat with. Sometimes Edwin came home late, but Anna no longer minded, since he was always home by nine o'clock.

But then Anna started to get a little bored. She told him one day that she missed working in her father's shop and wanted to work again too. Edwin was supportive and told her that if she wanted to get a job as well, by all means. She kissed him on the cheek and spent the next couple of weeks searching for a job in a store. When she found one, her shifts kept her past seven, and Edwin usually arrived home first.

The tables turned and Edwin took it upon himself to make his wife dinner for when she got home. His food was never as good as hers, but she loved it anyway and sometimes baked him something in the morning so that he could have it later.

By the time she arrived and they had both eaten dinner, it was nearly eight o'clock. Edwin made it a point for them to spend that hour together, blissfully unaware of the world. It was the best hour of his day.

Then Mr. Stark was off to Europe to build weapons and Edwin was left in America with a long list of assignments to complete on his own time. He worked diligently on them all throughout the war until Mr. Stark returned with bags under his eyes and a thundercloud over his head.

Something about Captain America.

Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis invited him over for tea and Anna made her famous goulash for the occasion. Mr. Stark admitted that it was the best food he'd ever tasted anywhere and seemed brighter for the rest of the day.

Edwin spent the next year serving Mr. Stark and living a generally happy life, until Mr. Stark was accused of treason and went into hiding and he suddenly had no job - not even a list of assignments! Except to help Miss Carter wherever and whenever she needed it. This gave him plenty of free time to surprise Anna with a very clean house and various presents and tasks he'd been meaning to do forever but never gotten around to.

There was one catch. Edwin hated lying. He loathed it with a passion, but he recognized it was necessary sometimes. It was because he hadn't been a very good liar that he'd been caught by General Hart and nearly gotten himself thrown in jail. So he lied to Anna about where he was with Miss Carter, but he swore to himself that one day he would tell her the truth. It was for her own safety, after all, and Edwin would do absolutely anything to keep her safe, whether it was as small as cooking her food without peanuts or as extreme as committing treason.

She would be angry when she found out, he knew. But he also knew that she would forgive him. She forgave everyone. It was one of the many reasons that Edwin fell in love with her.

Then those S.S.R. agents threatened to deport and her and Edwin nearly gave them everything. He would not let them send Anna back after everything she'd been through. Luckily, Miss Carter saved him and his wife and he would be forever grateful.

He and Anna were very happy for the next several years, serving Mr. Stark and eventually Mrs. Stark and then their little son Anthony. The Jarvis' were delighted when the Starks had a child, even if the Starks themselves weren't as pleased. Anna was unable to conceive, though not for lack of trying.

Anna and Edwin took to little Tony immediately, cooing over him and spending all the time they could with him. It irked Mrs. Stark to no end when Tony started to talk and sounded rather British, though Anna found it amusing.

Tony then took to calling them Uncle Edwin and Aunty Anna, but Mrs. Stark urged him to call them Mr. Jarvis and Nanny Anna. Edwin and Anna had some words to say on the matter, but thought it best to keep those to themselves.

As Tony grew older, it became apparent that Howard was not the father type. His relationship with his son was strained at best. When Tony was old enough to demand attention with words, Howard refused to acknowledge him. On those days, Tony ran crying to Edwin, who had moved into the same mansion as Mr. and Mrs. Stark with Anna at his side so that they could help take care of Tony when the Starks weren't home.

Edwin would console him and read him stories _not_ about Captain America and he would hold Tony close in a way that he'd never seen Howard do. Tony clung to him tightly and cried, staining his suits, which bothered Edwin immensely, but at Anna's insistence, he let Tony continue to leak tears onto his blazer.

When Tony hit thirteen, he distanced himself from everyone, including Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis. Edwin was sad that Tony thought of himself as alone and tried to convince him differently, but Tony had shoved him, screamed that he was "just their stupid butler" and ran off to his room, slamming the door behind him. If Edwin was being honest, that had hurt quite a lot.

Edwin began addressing him as Master Tony, at first to spite him, but then it became routine. Their relationship faltered and Edwin wanted nothing more than to help this poor, slightly neglected boy. Anna said that Tony needed to find his own path, but Edwin thought he spent too much time alone and could use a little help.

Tony was building robots for company. That could not be a good sign.

Then… everything changed.

Anna. His beloved Anna, became ill. It started small, with a little cough or a sneeze here and there. Then came the fever. Then the coughing fits. Then she was bedridden, unable to sit up.

Edwin nearly tore his hair out from stress. He knelt by her bedside every day, holding her hand and feeding her soup and singing her the lullabies she sang to him when he was upset. She stroked his hair while he cried into her sheets and she made him promise to try and be happy after she was gone.

"Impossible," he muttered.

She chuckled, hand never pausing on his head. "Please? For me?"

Edwin looked up, eyes rimmed with red. He took her hand in both of his and squeezed. "I promise to try."

She smiled at him. "And look after Tony for me, won't you? He's going to be a great man one day." She stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes and slack lips, sweat beading down pale and clammy cheeks.

Edwin sniffled. "He will, Anna. I know he will. You taught him so many things that will make him a good man."

"Not just a good man, Edwin. A _great_ man…" Her head lolled to the side, facing him, and she fell asleep. "Mmmm…" She breathed, mumbling to herself. "Love you, Edwin." He managed to make out her last words between shaky inhales.

She faded overnight, cuddled to his chest, and when he woke, he cried for hours.

To deal with his grief, he reached out to Tony, but every time he tried to breach the butler-master line drawn in the sand, Tony shot him down and sent him away. Eventually, Edwin stopped trying.

Sometimes, when Tony was sixteen, Edwin would find him drunk or smoking or just wallowing in self-pity somewhere completely random. Tony would ask philosophical questions that Edwin would do his best to answer, but Tony just "hmph"-ed and never seemed satisfied.

Then there was Obadiah Stane. Edwin had never liked Mr. Stane, though Anna seemed charmed by him. In all honesty, that made Edwin dislike him even more. Miss Carter had stuck around throughout Howard's life, popping in and out over the years. She, too, seemed to suspect something of Mr. Stane. They discussed it many times over tea, but could never find any proof that he was up to anything 'malicious'. He was clean.

But Edwin couldn't shake the feeling that he was bad news. Mr. and Mrs. Stark wouldn't listen to him nor Miss Carter. Even Tony loved him.

Then came the car accident. Mr. Stane took over the company and Tony wallowed in _more_ self-pity. He lived with Edwin for a few months, but Edwin was getting old. His time was coming.

He'd lived a good life. He reworked his will to give Tony many of his possessions and he visited Anna's grave more than usual. He called Miss Carter for the first time in several years and they spoke for hours, reminiscing. When he said good-bye, it felt very final. Edwin was okay with that, because he meant it to be.

He'd noticed that Miss Carter, Peggy, now, was starting to forget things. Peggy hated not remembering and made it a point to memorize the details of everything she could. So for her to start forgetting… well… she was getting old too.

Before he left this world, Edwin knew he had to have a conversation with Tony. A real one. He'd taken care of Tony, just like he'd promised, and the young man had so much potential. Unfortunately, Edwin could do nothing but watch as Tony wasted it, throwing it away in favour of gambling and girls and gallivanting with drinks in his hands.

At twenty-one years old, Tony Stark was making more headlines than there had been newspapers in America when Howard was in his prime. Edwin watched with a slight frown, trying to nudge Tony in the other direction. He could be firm when he wanted to, but he knew that trying to force Tony to do anything would only result in backlash. So Edwin sighed and made sure his ward was fed and had a roof over his head when he needed it.

He waited up for Tony one warm summer night, cradling a glass of amber liquid courage. Tony stumbled in at half-past two in the morning, sunglasses still firmly in place and giggling to himself like he was watching a funny movie on those tinted lenses. He fumbled with his bag and managed to shrug it and his shoes off in one move. Impressive for a man more drunk than alcohol itself.

Tony stopped in the kitchen doorway, where Edwin was slumped in a chair, and peered at him over his sunglasses. "Jarvis!" He slurred excitedly, almost dancing his way over. He thumped Edwin on the back, nearly missing. "Glad to see you joining the modern age!" His voice was unnecessarily loud and Edwin winced.

"You seem rather fond of it, so I thought I'd give it a try," he mumbled, circling the glass on the counter and swirling the alcohol inside. "Can't say I'd ever try it again." Not this sort, that was for sure.

Tony laughed and thumped him on the back again, as if having forgotten that he'd already done it just a moment ago. "Good f'r you f'r tryin'," he slurred, leaning heavily on the counter. He snatched the glass from Edwin and threw it back, slamming it on the counter nearly hard enough to crack the glass.

The butler in Edwin scowled and ripped the glass right out of Tony's hands. He stood and placed it carefully in the sink, his back creaking as he did so. He could hear Tony hobbling around on the kitchen tile. "I want to talk to you," Edwin blurted over the running water, unable to look Tony in the eye. "This is the only time you're ever home."

There was silence for a while as Edwin gently washed the glass. He wondered if Tony had ignored him and left or if he really hadn't heard. Then, "Bout what?"

Edwin sighed. "About your life and what you're doing with it; or rather, what you're _not_ doing with it."

"I don' need another father, Jarvis," he snapped lazily. "I had one an' he was shit."

Edwin frowned. "At being a father? Perhaps," he acknowledged. "But he was a good ma-"

"Cut the bullshit," Tony interrupted. "I don' need a lecture either."

Edwin turned off the faucet and set down the glass, turning to face Tony with his back straight. He hardly ever stood this straight anymore, but when he did, he towered over everyone else rather menacingly (which he was ridiculously prideful of). "I'm not here to lecture you, Tony," he said quietly. It was the first time he hadn't called him "Master" in quite a while. "I just want to talk."

"Can this wai' til morning?"

Edwin shook his head. "You'll be gone by then, doing God knows what."

"_I_ know what. What are you implyin', Jarvis?" He grinned sideways at the butler.

"Absolutely nothing, Master Tony," he replied coldly. "But I _am_ trying to say something else. Your parents would be very disappointed in you."

Tony scowled.

"Nanny Anna would be disappointed in you. Aunt Peggy _is_ disappointed in you."

"Obadiah thinks I can do whatever the hell I want," Tony sniffed petulantly. "He believes that I can make my own choices."

"_I'm_ disappointed in you," Edwin continued, narrowing his eyes. "You can do so much better-"

"I don't _want_ to do 'so much better'!" He spat, imitating Edwin's accent and failing miserably.

"Why not?"

Tony waved his hand as if to say 'whatever'. "I'm perfectly happy doing what I do now. You can't take that from me."

"No, I can't," Edwin agreed. "Are you planning on taking over your father's company?" He asked out of the blue.

Tony drummed his fingers on the counter. The fact that he was pausing gave Edwin hope, however small. "Prob'ly not."

"Why?"

"Because his job's boring and takes up all o' his time. Look at the kind o' person he turned out to be." He waved his hand again, this time in a demonstrative manner, as if Howard's ghost were standing in the kitchen.

Edwin shifted on his feet. "You are not your father."

Tony seized, gripping the back of a chair with white knuckles. "No?" He leaned forward slightly, as if begging for confirmation.

Edwin shook his head. "No. You aren't. You are Tony Stark. You are _different_. If you don't want to be like him, you don't have to. You don't _have_ to take the company." Though Edwin feared what Stane would do with it in Tony's absence. "You don't _have_ to like Captain America or _be_ like Captain America. You just need to be _you_."

"Yeah, well," Tony sneered, ripping the sunglasses from his face with one hand and keeping his grip on the chair with the other. "This _is_ me, okay? Drunk as fuck genius who can do whatever the fuck he wants. I've got it good, Jarvis. Better than anyone else in the whole world. I'm _fine_. Dad's company _sucks_ and I don't want it. It's just work."

Edwin held back the urge to sigh. "I'm not saying you should take the position-"

"That's _exactly_ what you're saying!" Tony roared, shoving the wooden chair Edwin had been sitting on earlier to the ground. It clattered to the floor noisily like gunshots in the silence of the night. "Stop trying to control me!"

"I'm not-"

"You're not my father!"

"SHUT UP!"

Tony's jaw snapped closed, shock evident on his features. Tony was another one of those people who made assumptions about Edwin. He was "just the butler".

Edwin stepped closer, glaring at his Master. "I have had just about enough of your silly antics."

Tony opened his mouth to speak.

Edwin cut him off. "Don't you say another lie to me! Do you hear me? You push people away. I know that's what you do, but all your life I have been right here by your side and you are not about to get rid of me now, after eighteen years.

"You have chosen to make this your life, but you have to acknowledge that this can't be your life forever. When you're fifty, this won't be your life anymore. Then what? What will you do? All I'm asking is for you to _think_ about your decisions before you make them. Is this life _really_ what you want? I don't think it is. I see it in your eyes whenever you drop in to eat my food. You aren't happy. The only thing Anna and I want is for you to be happy and we both know that this is not doing that for you. Just… just think about it."

Edwin ran out of steam and pushed past Tony into the living room, then the corridor, then the bedroom he and Anna used to share. He didn't slam the door, but oh how he wanted to. He lay in bed that night, mind buzzing with activity and replaying everything he'd just said to Tony. Had he said something he should regret? Perhaps, but he wasn't going to take them back. They were words that Tony needed to hear.

He wished that he could stay longer to see what Tony would do with his life, but Edwin could feel himself fading. A couple of weeks later, once he'd said all of his good-byes, he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm ready," he whispered. "I'm coming, Anna."

He fell fast asleep.

It was a small funeral, private and quiet. It was a cloudy day that foreshadowed rain, casting long shadows overhead. Young Tony Stark sat at the very back, staring at his hands in his lap through the darkest sunglasses he owned. He was sober for the first time in what felt like years. He'd even been drunk at his parents' funeral. But with this one… it didn't feel right.

He listened as people who called themselves Jarvis' friends ranted about how polite and kind-hearted he was and how honest he strived to be and blah, blah, blah. There were a few of Nanny Anna's friends crying near the front. There was Aunt Peggy sitting to the far right, discreetly wiping at her own tears. There were some of Jarvis' British army friends sitting in the middle.

Obadiah was distinctly not present.

When the ceremony was over, Tony waited for everyone to leave. Nanny Anna's friends plastered him with kisses and condolences and sobbed all the way to their cars, talking about what a 'nice man' he'd been. Tony thought that was the understatement of the century.

Aunt Peggy came and squeezed his shoulder, kissed him on the head (this one he didn't mind), and left without a word. The others trickled out as the first drops of rain splashed the ground. When everyone had left and it started to drizzle, Tony ambled up the aisle to the tombstone and knelt in front of it.

_Edwin Charles Jarvis_

_1911-1991_

_Ideal Butler &amp; Friend_

"You were more than that, Jarvis," Tony muttered, tracing the engraved words with gloved fingers. "So much more and… I'm sorry." He was frustrated with himself that he could only say it to a piece of rock and not the actual person. "I should have said that weeks ago. Years ago. I should have. And I'm… I…" He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Without a word, he pulled a black sharpie from his pocket and uncapped it. He scribbled on the tombstone, not giving two fucks who caught him or thought it was disrespectful. This was what the stone should have said anyway. It wasn't like he was drawing a dick.

_Edwin Charles Jarvis_

_1911-1991_

_Ideal -__ &amp; Friend_

**_Father_**

Tony watched the rain wash away his word with ease, squinting as it started to pour in earnest. Still, he sat there, staring. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unheard by even himself as thunder rumbled nearby. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

* * *

_**FORBES**_

_The New Kid_

_Tony Stark takes reigns at 21 - Page 08_

* * *

_**ROLLING STONE**_

_Special Double Issue!_

_Tony Stark wants to save the world_

* * *

_**VANITY FAIR**_

_Tony Stark, the Merchant of Death, Wants Peace in Our Time_

_An in-depth look at the philosophies of Tony Stark_

_By: Christine Everheart_


	5. Chapter 5: Anna Jarvis

**A/N. I'm back! So soon? With an even _longer_ chapter? Yes and yes. I've been very curious about Anna ever since the show mentioned her. This chapter kind of got away from me as a result. Hope you don't mind. :P Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Agent Carter or any of its characters. Also, I apologize if anything if historically inaccurate. If you notice something, please let me know and I shall endeavor to fix it.**

Anna Lozinski was not someone a lot of people knew. She was not someone who caught people's attentions. She was not someone that wanted to stand out.

It was for these reasons that she has survived all these years.

Anna had never been one to enjoy the spotlight, always blushing under attention and ducking her head under affection. She was quiet and meek from childhood to adulthood, preferring to read than to interact with the other children. It wasn't so much that she didn't like the children themselves (except Bethany), but more that they didn't notice her. She was perfectly fine not being noticed. No one bothered her in the middle of an exciting chapter to ask her to play. She never bothered anyone with her chatter about characters that she loved. Nobody lost.

She had been the teacher's pet, too. Which was nice. She got good grades. And still nobody paid attention to her, so she never got bullied about it. Without distractions, she worked diligently; on her schoolwork and her chores, of which her mother and father were very proud.

Anna did have one friend named Annabelle. They'd met in Madame Warner's class when they were seven, giggling when the teacher had called out the name "Anna" and they had both replied with, "Yes, Madame Warner?" From that point onward, they were the best of friends. They both went by Anna for a while, just to confuse each other, but that soon got a little _too_ confusing despite one of them being blonde and the other brunette. They became Belle and Anna, the bestest of friends.

Belle was slightly more outgoing than Anna and liked to play games with the other children though she also loved reading just as much as Anna did. They loved to argue with each other over whose favourite character was better and why. They were attached at the hip.

As Anna grew older, her personality hardly changed. She remained quiet and polite, always friendly and ready to smile at anyone who happened to notice her. She loved to hum while she worked and had a certain grace to her movements that it was almost as if she danced at a walking pace wherever she went. There was a faint aura of cheer that followed her, spreading to those who approached her immediately. That aura was stronger when she was with her little brother, Adam.

Adam was four years younger and nowhere near as mature and responsible as his older sister. While she did the laundry and washed the dishes without being asked, he complained loudly about working in the garage with their father. Despite his whining, Anna could tell that he would be an intellectual one day (in the distant, _distant_ future). He refused to pick up a book unless he absolutely had to, but Anna suspected that that was because she loved books and he just wanted to be different from her.

Anna loved her little brother dearly and pecked him on the cheek whenever she could, giggling when he would make a face and wipe his cheek furiously with his sleeve. They didn't do many things together, but they were always ready to defend the other should anything happen.

Which was why Adam had acted the way he did when he found out that she had fallen for someone.

It had all started when she was in her parents' tailor shop, like usual. As a full-grown adult, Anna worked in the shop with Belle and Adam to make a living, straining their ears to eavesdrop on customers for news on the goings on in Germany. Terrible things seemed to be happening and they were making Anna's family nervous. It was as if a great storm cloud loomed over all of Budapest, hovering menacingly. It cast a dark shadow over anyone Jewish, threatening to storm at any moment.

Belle was blonde haired and blue eyed, but she was worried her lip between her teeth anyway, sometimes making it bleed from the rumours she heard. Anna could barely stand to hear the words from her best friend's mouth, let alone sit and wait for it to happen to her and her family.

On one rainy day, several soldiers staying in the attached hotel dropped in throughout the day to have their uniforms hemmed, fixed, or tailored in some way. It was good business and soldiers were always the best ones to listen to. They were the most direct sources Anna could get to.

Not long before dinner time, two soldiers strolled into the shop. One was tall and stood very straight while the other was short and slouched. They both wore their uniforms though theirs were different than the ones Anna had seen earlier that day. A different rank, perhaps? The tall one had dark blonde hair and misty blue eyes while the shorter one had greasy black locks and brown irises.

They were shooting teasing whispers at each other, stomping their boots on the mat in front of the door. They'd come in from the entrance that led directly outside rather than the one from the lobby, which meant that they were probably returning from somewhere. There might be more where they came from.

The shorter one shook his hair out like a dog, spraying rainwater (and perhaps grease and sweat) all over the floor. Anna pressed her lips together in amusement as Belle muttered some not very nice things about this particular "guest". The tall one seemed to chide the other, who shrugged and removed the cigarette from his lips, puffing out smoke expertly. He grinned toothily at his friend, replying with undeniable snark. The taller man rolled his eyes and strolled further into the shop, browsing the displays.

The short one made his way over to a shelf of hats, trying them all on and admiring himself in the small mirror dangling from the display. Anna wondered if she'd have to find a creative way to wash those hats when he was done.

She went back to sewing the buttons on a customer's jacket since they'd all managed to pop off somehow. She resumed her quiet humming in her little sewing corner of the store and continue working. Occasionally, she'd look up and every time she did, the tall man was staring at a rack of ties. When she moved onto the next jacket –and then the _next_ one – she decided that this should probably be one of those rare instances where she initiated a conversation, since Belle was busy scolding the tall man's friend and Adam was somewhere in the back.

Anna removed her glasses and stood up, pushing her chair back and brushing off her skirts. She even moved her hair over one shoulder, letting it flow down one side in slight waves. She stepped around the table and made her way towards him, tapping his shoulder (which was a bit higher than eye level for her).

He turned, a tie in each hand, red in the face. He looked as if he'd just been caught with both hands in Anna's mother's special dessert cupboard, where she stored all the sweets. Anna tried not to laugh. It was an adorably embarrassed and shy expression.

He cleared his throat. _"Hello,"_ he said in heavily accented Hungarian. She almost didn't recognize the word.

She blinked. _"Good day," _she returned. _"How can I help you?"_

He looked slightly confused. He must not speak Hungarian very well. He seemed to have understood her meaning, though, because he held up both ties sheepishly. _"Can't… pick,"_ he stuttered out. My, his Hungarian was… well… rather awful. His pronunciation was the worst, but that wasn't his fault. It was just the lilt of his tongue and the way he spoke. She wondered what he sounded like in his mother language.

_"German?"_ She guessed.

He looked at her inquisitively. _"Do you speak German?"_ He said in the same language he was referring to. He was obviously fluent, though his accent was just as present.

She nodded. _"Yes,"_ she replied truthfully. She was fluent in German as well, but it was not her first language.

_"Do you, by chance, happen to speak English?"_ He asked hopefully.

"Few words," she admitted, knitting her brows as she concentrated on the third language she'd spoken in the past minute. "Not enough."

He nodded. When next he spoke, he reverted back to German. _"It was worth a shot. Tell me, what do you think of this tie?"_ He held up a deep red tie with diagonal yellow stripes, holding it beneath his chin.

_"That depends on where you are wearing it,"_ she replied, folding her hands in front of her.

_"Well, my friend over there," _he nodded his head at his short comrade,_ "spilled coffee on my best tie and I need a new one for this evening. There's a formal event and I can't simply walk in _without a tie_."_ He said the last three words as if it would be horrifying enough to shame him for life.

Anna tried not to smile too much. _"Let me see the other one,"_ she suggested.

He held up the other obligingly. This one was exactly the same, except purple. Her lips twitched. He seemed rather distressed about this choice. Anna didn't think ties were all that important, though she realized that she had never been to a formal event. Perhaps there were certain rules.

_"I like the red one,"_ she confessed, pointing at the one in his right hand.

_"Really?"_ He held it up to his chin once again, turning to stare at his reflection in the store windows. It wasn't a very clear picture.

_"Yes," _Anna assured, stepping forward so that he could see her reflection as well. _"It suits you. And red is my favourite colour."_ She smiled at him to let him know that she was mostly teasing (it was true, after all).

He smiled back and she was struck by how charming he was, especially up close. He had teeth whiter than snow in the wintertime and dimples that made her think of apples and their crisp, sweet deliciousness. She blushed and stepped back.

He lowered his eyes shyly and folded the purple tie exactly as it had been before replacing it on the display. _"Red it is, then."_

_ "Will that be everything?"_ She asked as she led him to the counter.

_"Yes, I believe it will,"_ he replied, following close behind.

She stepped behind the counter and accepted the tie from him. _"Are you looking forward to this event tonight?"_ She asked, glancing up from the money he'd just given her. She may not talk to strangers often, but she was very good at talking about little things that one would forget later in the day. For some reason, she thought she'd remember this conversation later.

He lifted his chin a little in thought. _"Hm, well, I suppose. It should prove more fun than the last few days. They've been full of nothing but meetings and paperwork,"_ he said, accepting the change from her. _"It would be better if I had a lady on my arm, if only to keep me company."_ He met her eyes for a moment before ducking his head shyly.

That was a trait she shared with him. She blushed deeply. Was he…? It was a bit obscure if he was. _"Would it, truly?"_

He looked up, their gazes locking once again. _"Yes."_

She could feel the honesty radiating off of him. It had the air of a confession, though a confession of what, she didn't really want to think about. _"Well…"_ He hadn't actually _asked_…

All of a sudden, the shorter soldier strolled up to the counter and leaned forward on it with both elbows, smoke billowing from between his lips as he held the cigar between two fingers. "He's tryin' to ask ya out, doll," he said in English.

Anna furrowed her brows, trying to decipher his words. "… doll?"

The tall man blushed furiously and kicked his friend in the shin half-heartedly. The short one could only grin, waving his cigar around as he spoke again. "Don't speak German, myself. But I can tell from his eyes that he thinks y'er real pretty. That dress o' yours is dillinger."

The tall one kicked him again, bright red in the face. _"I apologize for him. He's an actor; or at least, he wants to be. He's practicing his American accent."_

She was no less confused. _"What was he saying?"_

She hadn't thought it possible for his face to turn redder. She was wrong. _"He said that… he and I both think you're rather beautiful."_

His embarrassment seemed to be contagious because she was now blushing profusely as well. _"Oh! Er… thank you kindly,"_ she said, handing him the tie in a small bag.

He accepted it without looking at it, too busy trying to meet her eyes. _"He also said… that… I was trying to… well… Perhaps… you could come with me? To the event tonight," _he clarified. _"I know it's dreadfully last minute, but… I wasn't lying. I would enjoy myself more if I had someone to talk to."_

While his complexion was returning to normal, hers was getting pinker by the second. She had to admit that he was very handsome and charming and polite and shy and adorable and- _"I don't even know your name,"_ she mumbled, shuffling her feet behind the counter.

_"Oh! Do forgive me,"_ he begged, shifting to stand taller, blushing all the while. _"I'm afraid my manners aren't quite up to par when I am so distracted."_

She blushed further, heat invading her cheeks. She wished his friend would stop smirking at them and just go away. He was easy enough to ignore, though, when she had this princely stranger asking to take her out on the fanciest date she will have ever been to. If she went! _If_ she went, that is.

_"Edwin Jarvis, aide to General Hart of the British military,"_ he introduced, bowing his head in a nod, almost as if to tip a hat that wasn't there.

Anna smiled. _"Anna Lozinksi."_ She had no fancy title, but that was to be expected.

_"Anna,"_ he repeated, trying out her name on his tongue. She had to admit, that the way he said it… was incredibly attractive.

_"Edwin,"_ she said back. It was an interesting name; one she had never heard before. She wondered if it was common in England, where she assumed he was from.

_"Miss Lozinksi, would you accompany me to the event tonight?" _He peered hopefully into her eyes, blinking and waiting, his hands clasped behind his back with the bag dangling from one wrist.

She bit her lip, wondering what Belle would say when she found out (not to mention Adam and her father) and nodded.

Mr. Jarvis beamed. _"Wonderful!"_ He ran a hand through his hair, looking relieved.

The short one prodded him in the side. "Well? Was that a yes?"

Mr. Jarvis nodded.

His friend whooped and turned to face Anna. "You, little lady, are a lucky woman. This here's the catch o' the season! Take good care o' him and he'll do more 'an 'at to you." He winked.

Mr. Jarvis grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and lightly yanked him back from the counter, sending him stumbling toward the door. Mr. Jarvis ignored him and turned back to Anna, who was giggling in earnest now. _"I shall return at seven o'clock, if that is alright with you."_ They both checked their watches.

_"It is more than alright with me,"_ she replied, heart fluttering.

He grinned at her. _"I shall… I'll see you tonight."_ He reached up to a nonexistent hat, blushed, dropped his hand, raised it again, and waved.

She waved back.

Then he was out the door that led to the hotel lobby, dragging his friend behind him by the ear. Anna laughed, feeling light enough to float away as she skipped back to her sewing corner.

Adam was furious that he'd missed it and hadn't been able to intervene with a resounding "No" before she could get too smitten. But it was too late. She was determined to go on this date with Mr. Jarvis.

Her father warned her that he did not live in Budapest and, therefore, had to leave eventually, but Anna pulled out the excuse that she just wanted to have a good time. She didn't get out much and her parents were always encouraging her to do just that. Luckily for her, Mrs. Lozinski was on her side. It was two against two and Mr. Lozinski knew when his wife wasn't going to let something go. He grumbled to himself, but allowed Anna to go and she nearly squealed (but didn't, thankfully).

Anna, her mother, and Belle spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready for Anna's outing. They spent several hours trying to find something suitable for such a formal event (not to mention accompanying a man of high class, probably high status, and good taste). In the end, she wore the prettiest dress Belle owned and pinned her hair a wavy up-do that her mother had helped her with, wearing her own most comfortable (and luckily matching) shoes.

She made her way back to the shop, accompanied by Adam, who refused to let her leave the house dressed like that by herself. Mr. Jarvis arrived right on time with a single rose and a very snazzy, very expensive-looking suit that fit him very well (he'd obviously had it tailored – she only wished the tailor had been her just so she could take his measurements). He was wearing a hat this time and it sat crooked on his head, as was the style.

She beamed at him, accepting the flower shyly. No one had ever bought her flowers before. Adam gave Mr. Jarvis a "stern" talking to and then accepted the flower from his sister, since she didn't want to take it with her and carry it the entire time. He told them to have fun and Mr. Jarvis whisked her off to a beautiful night of talking, eating, and the tiniest bit of dancing.

They talked in the car as he drove and they spoke at the event and they conversed over dinner and they debated over poets on the way back. Edwin Jarvis was one of the most interesting people she had ever met. She had learned so much about him! Yet still, she craved to know more.

She craved his voice. She craved the way he blushed. She craved his horror at anything wrinkled. She craved the way he felt under her hands when she smoothed down his new tie. She craved his hands, smooth and large and gentle as he held her hand, squeezed her shoulder, or pressed against the small of her back.

She had fallen for him quite hard – harder than she ever intended. But she couldn't fault herself for that. How could she when she felt this happy?

Belle had been ecstatic. Adam and their parents… less so. But they let her continue to see him, so Anna supposed that that was all that really mattered at the moment.

Edwin was posted in Budapest for several months, during which Anna felt that she was happy enough to fly. Everyone around her started noticing. She didn't care. She loved Edwin dearly.

But… then things started to get worse. That storm cloud hovering over Budapest seemed to get darker and more threatening, crackling with electricity. Hungary was currently in armistice negotiations with the United States and the United Kingdom, Edwin explained to her one day. If Germany ever found out… the results wouldn't be good. Hitler might invade.

Anna and her family had special reasons to fear an invasion. They didn't have to broadcast their religion with a golden star, but she lived in a small neighbourhood. Most people knew.

Edwin feared for her safety just as much as she did. She could see it in the way that he lifted his hand and to comb his fingers through hair that she couldn't see. She could see it in the way that he urged her to have her things packed and ready to go at any time. She could see it in the way that he had bags under his eye some mornings, as if he'd had a nightmare. On those mornings, his eyes would always linger on her a few moments longer than usual, as if _she_ had been the subject of his night terrors.

The war was getting worse. Everyone in all of Hungary was twitching at the slightest hint of an attack, even if it was just a friend tapping someone on the shoulder. Even the soldiers looked grim, their eyes flitting around in paranoia as they walked through the streets.

Edwin came to her one day with a plan. If he could get a letter of transit signed by the General was working for, she and her family could escaped.

But where on Earth could they go that would be safe?

To America, he suggested. Or England, he said with a small smile. His home. He could show her many things and places and foods. Oh, Anna, she'd love it there, he gushed, taking her hands in his. He pleaded for her to convince her family to come with her.

Anna tried. Her parents refused to come. They would not leave their home and they would not run. They did not want to live their lives in fear. Adam was convinced, though. He packed his bags and was ready to go by the time Edwin returned late that starry night, meeting her and her brother on the porch. Anna knew immediately that something was wrong. His lips were pressed together tightly and he was taut as a bowstring, hands clasped behind his back in a formal pose. His expression was a cross between anger and despair. He seemed to be holding his breath.

She touched his arm, looking up at him. _"Edwin, are you alright?"_

He met her eyes and relaxed, his shoulders slumping and his expression softening. _"Oh Anna…" _he mumbled, _"It's awful. The General, he… he refuses to sign the letters."_

Anna's heart fell in a swoop, dropping rapidly to the floor. _"Why?"_

Edwin locked gazes with her, making sure she understood clearly. _"Because you are Jewish."_

Anna and Adam were shocked. A _British_ General being so prejudiced? Anna suddenly feared for Edwin. Who exactly was he working for? Was he a cruel man? Would he judge Edwin for his love for a Jewish girl?

"_Are you in trouble?"_ She asked, biting her lip worriedly. Adam hovered nearby, unsure of what to do. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

Edwin shook his head. _"No. General Hart is… mad, but he's been mad before."_ He reached for Anna's hand and intertwined their fingers. _"Anna… I will get those papers signed if it costs me my life,_" he promised.

Anna's heart seized and she gripped his hand with both of hers tightly. _"No, Edwin, you can't!"_

He rested his other hand on top of hers, warming them with his palms. _"Hopefully it won't come to that,"_ he said quietly, bringing her cool fingers to his lips and kissing them. _"I'll be back this time tomorrow,"_ he said loudly enough for Adam to hear. _"I'll have the letters. If… If I'm not back…"_ He pressed his lips together once more. Anna wanted nothing more than to smooth the wrinkle from his brows and kiss away his tense expression. _"Then I have failed,"_ he finished simply.

"_Come back to me anyway,"_ Anna pleaded, tears threatening to pour from her eyes. _"I do not care if you fail or not. You have tried and that means more to me than you can ever imagine."_

He smiled grimly. _"If I have failed, I will have been caught."_

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, straining toward him. He was going to do something illegal. _"Edwin, no!"_

"_I have to try."_

Adam cleared his throat. _"What will they do to you if you get caught?"_

Edwin paused, looking down at the ground. _"I'm not sure. Nothing good, though."_

Anna surged forward, throwing her arms around him. _"Come back to me,"_ she pleaded into his chest. _"Do not fail."_

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. _"I will try."_

* * *

The next night, she and Adam waited on the doorstep. When ten minutes passed without his appearance, Anna clutched her brother's hand. She didn't let go for the entire night. Just before the sun rose, Adam managed to drag her inside, numb and tired and more scared for her love than for herself.

He didn't show up the next day. Or the next. Anna was beside herself with fear for him. What kind of punishment would they give him for his crime in a foreign country? Would they kill him? Hurt him? Imprison him in Hungary, never to go home again?

These worries plagued her as she hemmed a pair of pants at the shop, threading the needle with shaky hands. Belle and Adam were skirting around the edges of the store, refusing to leave her alone in her sorrows, but unsure how to proceed in comforting her.

The door burst open and the short friend of Edwin's flew in, breathing slightly erratic. He searched the store frantically with his eyes until he found Anna. "Miss Lozinski," he panted, rushing for her. He sounded different. He must not be working on his American accent anymore. In fact, it sounded distcintly Spanish. Regardless, she met him halfway, heart hammering. "Miss Lozinski," he said again in his funny accent, "Jarvis… he's been captured."

She could tell what he meant by his tone. Tears sprang to his eyes. _"What's happening to him?"_

He seemed to be able to read her tone as well. "General Hart's furious. Jarvis has committed treason." He shook his head, almost smirking. "You must be _some_ dame."

Belle, who spoke English better than Anna did, joined their conversation, linking her arm with Anna's. "He is okay?" She asked, her accent thick.

The man seemed relieved that she spoke his language and nodded. "Yeah, he's fine. For now."

"What they going do to him?"

"Hart hasn't decided yet. But I haven't seen him that angry since… ever."

Belle gripped Anna's arm tightly. "He… a-ll-ow-ed… do what he wants?" She struggled with the foreign words, curling her tongue awkwardly around them.

The man made a face. "Well… not really. You see, everyone's scared of Hart. They let him do whatever the hell he wants. Most of the time. But this time, they're putting up a bit of a fight. That's why it's taken so long already. Though if Hart has his way, Jarvis'll be dead by morning."

Anna understood none of what was going on, but she figured none of it could be good. Belle shot her a panicked look. Anna felt like she might faint. "Help him!" She pleaded, latching onto the man's arm. "Please!"

His eyes softened. "Wish I could, Ma'am. But there isn't anything I can do."

She read his brown eyes and knew her answer. She let go and stepped back. She had to help him. He had sacrificed everything to try and help her. She would not rest until she had attempted to do the same.

The door opened and three people came in, chattering to each other. The man in the front was short with black hair and brown eyes, like Edwin's friend, but this man was dressed fancier than Anna had ever seen for just going into a tailor shop. This man had swagger and no shortage of money, if his two followers were any indication. They nodded excitedly at every word he said, even though he seemed to be complaining endlessly in English about something.

Adam headed them off, glad for something to do.

Anna stared. She wondered if this was the man Edwin had told her about. If so… he might be able to help her. Help Edwin.

Anna poked the man in front of her, who shot her un an unamused glare. "Who?" She asked, pointing at the rich customer.

The man glanced over. "That's Howard Stark. He makes American weapons – some damn good ones, too." He nodded in agreement with himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "He's here on official business. Not something you can know about."

Anna didn't care about that. She turned to Belle. _"Tell him that I need Mr. Stark's help. Tell him to tell Mr. Stark that I know Edwin Jarvis. Please!"_ She ordered in rapid Hungarian.

Belle looked at her like she'd just told her that aliens existed. Still, she helped. She slipped her arm from Anna's and skipped the man entirely to head over to Mr. Stark. Adam was asking a million questions with his eyes. Belle ignored him and stopped right in front of Mr. Stark, standing taller than him. He looked her up and down with a small smirk on his face. "Hi there, darlin'."

"You need help us," Belle demanded somewhat impolitely.

"What can I do for you?" Mr. Stark asked immediately, rocking back and forth on his feet. He seemed relaxed in every situation.

"You know Edwin Jarvis?"

Mr. Stark hummed and looked up at the ceiling. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell." When Belle stared blankly at him, he rephrased. "Don't know him." He shook his head.

Anna joined her friend in front of him. "Yes!" She insisted. "Edwin Jarvis!" She raised a hand to gesture at his height. Belle translated for her.

"Very tall. Blonde. Blue eyes. Very polite. From England."

Mr. Stark hummed again. "Sounds somewhat familiar. Say the name again?"

"Edwin Jarvis."

"So let's say I know this guy. What do you want from me?"

"Help," Belle answered. "Mr. Jarvis in trouble."

Mr. Stark raised his hands. "Look, I just wanna get my cuffs fitted and these shoulders loosened. They're a bit tight. Fix that, then we'll talk."

Anna didn't know what he was saying, but she was angered by his nonchalance. _"Edwin is in danger of losing his life and you are ready to let him die because you want to fix your coat! Edwin told me about how eccentric you are! He's heard rumours. But I never thought you would be so selfish as to let a man die because of it!"_ She seethed.

Mr. Stark blinked. "I ever tell you that Hungarian is a really sexy language?"

Anna threw up her hands while Belle huffed. Adam stepped between them with his back to Mr. Stark. _"Do you have a photo?"_

Anna's eyes widened and she nodded. _"Yes. One. I'll get it."_ She gathered up her dress and hurried off. She burst out onto the street and ran home, tripping all the way there. She stumbled through the front door and up the stairs, grabbing the picture frame on her nightstand and racing back. When she made it to the store once again, panting heavily, Edwin's friend and Mr. Stark were conversing jovially. Adam and Belle were whispering to each other harshly behind the counter, arguing about something.

Anna ignored them and practically shoved the picture into Mr. Stark's hands. "Him!" She pointed at the picture.

Mr. Stark looked at it, tilting his head. "Oh yeah! I know that guy." He nodded to show that he recognized him. "Never learned his name, though. Edwin Jarvis, you said?"

Anna heard the question in his tone and nodded vigorously. "Trouble," she insisted. "Help. Please."

He glanced up at her with one raised eyebrow. "Why should I help you?"

She blinked at him, not understanding. "Please," she said again. "Good… uh… good… person?" She wondered if the last word was correct.

Mr. Stark seemed to understand. He handed her the picture back. "Yeah, okay. He's under General Hart, right?"

Anna nodded again, clutching the frame to her chest as hope sprouted from her heart. "Yes! Yes!"

Mr. Stark smiled. "Well, it just so happens that I have a bone to pick with that guy. _Again_. That guy's ruffled my feathers one too many times, I tell ya. He's goin' down."

Anna bounced on her toes hopefully, waiting for a definitive answer that she could understand.

"I'll help him," he agreed, nodding.

Anna smiled in relief and grabbed his hand, shaking it wildly. "Thank you! Thank you _very much!"_ She switched back to Hungarian halfway through, but she got the message across.

Mr. Stark grinned at her. "Great! Now how about this jacket?"

* * *

Unfortunately, Mr. Stark hadn't agreed to help her brother because the full plan had never been explained to him. He managed to get Edwin released from his "imprisonment" and discharged from the army. He also had General Hart sign Anna's letter of transit, but not Adam's.

Adam couldn't come with them.

She had peppered his face with kisses the night she was to leave, promising that she'd find a way to bring him to America with her – promising to be reunited. His smile held no hope for such a thing, but he hugged her as tightly as he could and sent her on her way, wishing her safe travel.

Anna, Edwin, and Howard flew to America, where she and Edwin made a new life together. He spent a painstakingly long time teaching her English so that she could integrate into American society, but she got it eventually. She knew enough to make her vows in English on their wedding night.

Their relationship had its ups and downs, but ultimately, she was happier than she had ever imagined possible. Until her brother's letters ceased to exist after March of 1944. She heard on the radio that German forces had begun to occupy Hungary. She also heard that Jews were being deported left, right, up, and down.

She never heard from her family again.

She was truly alone now, with only Edwin and Mr. Stark to keep her company.

She'd tried making friends at the local coffee shops, but she had never been one for coffee. Too bitter. Edwin had gotten her addicted to tea, though. She particularly loved the fruity ones. In any case, she wasn't one to speak unless spoken to, which made making friends very hard.

There was always Belle, who responded to Anna's letters like clockwork. She confirmed that the Lozinskis had been deported and that Belle had no idea where they'd gone.

Anna continued to write letters to her brother and sometimes to her parents, telling them about her marriage with Edwin and how life in America was so different. It was almost like her diary. It helped her to cope with the holes left in her heart by their departure.

She started working again. She found another tailor shop around the block and became one of their seamstresses. It kept her busy, even if it made her miss seven o'clock sherry with Edwin most nights. She was always home in time for Benny Goodman, though, which was a relief. She and Edwin loved to dance in the living room to his music once they'd had their sherry, where no one could see them. It was her favourite part of every day.

She got by and she lived. She was still quiet, still reserved, still careful. She was always on the lookout for Germans, just waiting to be deported. But she held her chin high and faced the day despite her fears.

Anna Jarvis was not someone a lot of people knew. She was not someone who caught people's attentions. She was not someone that wanted to stand out. But that was alright with her. She had a wonderful husband, a good job, good money, a best friend back in Budapest who survived the war, and a genuinely great life. She faced prejudice sometimes and she knew Edwin lied to her about some things (which he explained later, once the whole thing with Miss Carter was over), but she conquered her fears every day and never let them control her. She bounced back from her family's disappearance and from her rows with Edwin and she made sure to stand up for anyone who was being mistreated. She may not have a strong voice, but she had a strong heart that knew the sorrows of prejudice.

Anna Jarvis was the kind of woman who smiled innocently and sipped at her tea, hiding her secret troubles from the world, while asking if you wanted a cookie. She was just that kind of dame.

And she was perfectly happy with that.


	6. Chapter 6: Angie Martinelli

**A/B. I'm back! Only a few left and then all of my fics (that matter) will be completed. That's the goal! Anyway, here's Angie. I took kind of a weird turn with this one since we don't know anything about Angie's past. I hope you like it anyway. I'm a little iffy on it.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Agent Carter or anything affiliated with it.**

**Angela Martinelli – The Actress**

Angie Martinelli could keep a secret. She knew Peggy had loads of stuff she wasn't gonna tell her anytime soon, but Angie could sniff out the ill-intentioned with the best of them. And English wasn't ill-intentioned.

Angie was an actress. She wanted to _lie_ for a living. If she wanted to be on Broadway someday, she'd need to get good at recognizing when someone else was acting. It was a dog-eat-dog world in show business and she wasn't going to wait in the dog house for an opportunity to pass her by. She was gonna take the world by storm.

So Angie didn't question Peggy or her past. Angie trusted Peggy because she knew that Pegs must have a good reason for keeping things a secret. Angie had a few secrets of her own.

There was a reason that she wanted to be an actress and it wasn't for the fame.

When she was a kid, she and her twin brother Arnold were bullied a lot at school. Arnold was picked on because he was so thin and covered head-to-toe in freckles. He had a really high voice too and the other boys teased him because they thought it was girly. The other girls at school, especially this one girl, Mary Roberts, always yanked on Angela's braid and taunted her.

Angela and Arnold were the laughing stocks of the school. They were weak, poor, not doing well in classes, unpopular, unathletic, and really shy. What place did they have at _school_?

They were as close as could be, picking each other up when they got knocked down and dusting each other off. They were each other's only friends. So when Angela hopped down the steps of the school one day and saw a huge crowd of people surrounding what sounded like a crying Arnold, Angela had shoved her way to the middle of the circle viciously.

There was Arnold, bloody and bruised from a beating he was receiving from the head bully, Nathanial Johnson. Arnold had gone limp. Angela dropped her books in anger and shock. "GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU BASTARD!" At the age of eleven, Angela dove forward and tackled Nathanial to the ground. The crowd roared with an emotion Angela didn't care to identify. She clawed and yanked and punched and hit and kicked and he didn't hit back. He didn't want to hit a girl.

His loss, her gain.

She screamed and attacked him as fiercely as she could, the image of her broken brother branded in her mind, burning her brain and making her see red, like the blood leaking from his face. "NEVER!" Punch. "TOUCH!" Punch. "HIM!" Punch. "AGAIN!"

Someone roughly ripped her off of Nathanial and she stumbled backward as they let go. She pushed past the someone and ran back. She wasn't done. She screamed and grabbed a rock and started pounding him on the head with it. Nathanial deserved this. Look at what he did to her brother! Blood spurted from his skull and she felt a sick satisfaction when she saw it. This was what he'd done to Arnie.

A hand tore the stone from hers and yanked her backward yet again. He was yelling something in her ear and he was taller than her, probably a teacher. She didn't register any of this. She screamed and kicked and cried and swore up and down like no eleven year old girl ever had or should.

"Your brother needs you!" The teacher had shouted.

That made her stop. She and her brother were escorted to the doctors and they patched him up real good. "All better," they'd said, peeling off their gloves.

As if.

From that moment onward, Angela wasn't the shy girl to get picked on. She was the one to be feared. Now that she wasn't mad anymore, Angela didn't _want_ to be feared. She wanted to be _respected_. But it was too late. She had lost that the moment she had let her books fall to the ground.

Angela was terrified of the monster inside of her. She never wanted to be like that again. She had nearly killed a boy and at the time, she had felt like she would never regret it. A sick feeling twisted her stomach, wringing it out like a sponge.

The Martinelli family didn't have the money, but they packed up their things and moved from Los Angeles to Westchester. That was when Angela first realized that she could be anyone she wanted.

Angela and Arnold became Angie and Marty, the cool twins from sunny California. Angie changed her look and changed the way she acted and suddenly she really _was_ respected. Angie had _chosen_ who she wanted to be and she had _become_ that person. It was a miracle and a gift, so long as Angie didn't have to be herself.

So yeah, Angie understood that Peggy had a past and some secrets she'd rather not share. Angie had her fair share of things she'd take to the grave. Angie wasn't going to force Peggy to tell her anything, even if they _were_ going to be penthouse mates now.

Angela had been playing Angie so long that she believed it was who she really was, but deep down inside, she was still that shy kid with a temper and sometimes that kid peeked out to say hello, but Angie always came out on top. She had to stay in character or one day she would explode. It was a helpful tip in auditions. _Stay in character or everything will blow up in your face._

Playing someone else was the only way that Angie could forget what had happened as a child. It was the only way to avoid playing the wrong character – the one that horrified people - herself.

**A/N. Like I said, not sure I like this one. But let me know what ****_you_ think in the reviews and I will be happy regardless :)**


	7. Chapter 7: Roger Dooley

**A/N. Heeeeeeere's Roger! Roger Dooley, to be precise. I like this one much better than the last one. I hope you guys do too :) Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Agent Carter**

"How ya feeling, Chief?"

That was a stupid question, but Roger Dooley couldn't bring himself to say something spiteful or sarcastic about it. Now really wasn't the time. He didn't have time left to do much else. "Burnin' up," he admitted honestly, trying to breathe deeply.

Sweat glazed over his skin from the slant of his nose to the crevices between his toes. His hair was plastered to his forehead and the nape of his neck. He was gripping the desk behind him so hard that he couldn't even feel if there was something he was holding. His fingers were numb. He trembled. Fear gripped him. He'd known fear. He had flirted with death a couple of times, but this was different. This felt… unavoidable. Despair burrowed its way into his chest and he felt with a sickening lurch of his stomach that he wasn't going to make it through this.

There was a vest strapped to his chest, one that couldn't- _wouldn't_ come off. It was lit with glowing orange wires that burned him, searing his flesh. If he lived through this, he would have scars. He wondered if Loretta would ever see them. What she would think of them.

"He got in my head," Roger continued, trying his damnedest not to let his voice waver. "He made me steal something from the lab. You can't let him talk to you." He was whispering now, losing his voice to the fear and the heat branding his throat. But he needed to warn them. No one should have to fall prey to that kind of… manipulation. No one should have to go through what he had been through. He felt as if someone had grabbed his brain, stolen it from his head, pulled it apart, mashed it around, threw it in a blender, and then put it back upside down. But no matter what happened to him, they needed to hear this. They needed to know how dangerous this man was. "If he starts talking to you… he got you."

The doctor stepped forward. "These clasps-"

"They're locked." Jarvis looked nervous. He kept fixing his jacket and adjusting his tie. Left. Right. Too far right. Left again. "As I said before, it's what activates the system. Tampering with them trips the circuit to the battery and speeds up the reaction." _Great._

"What is this thing made out of?" The doctor asked, turning to Roger once again. He was looking at him a mixture of awe and helplessness. It wasn't giving Roger much hope. But then again, when was the last time Roger had some of that?

"It's an alloy of Mr. Stark's creation," Jarvis answered, staring from the doctor to Roger. Back and forth. Turning his head. Left and right. Adjusting his tie.

"Can't you cut him out of this thing?" Carter piped up, sounding for all the world like she possessed a calmness that Roger was jealous of at the moment. He wasn't calm. Not by any means. He was _losing his mind_. But he kept silent to let them brainstorm. He kept still because he didn't want to activate the vest early. Everyone here would die with him. No matter what, he wouldn't take another life.

Not after Berlin.

"I-I don't think we have the time," the doctor declined, shaking his head.

This was it, then. Roger Dooley was going to die in a matter of seconds. He eyed Thompson's gun. Maybe the self-heating vest wouldn't work on a corpse. Maybe it wouldn't explode if the victim was already dead.

Jarvis jumped to intervene and Roger hoped for a split second that he had an idea. A suggestion. A thought. _Anything. _"Tampering with the circuitry-"

"Heats up the reaction." The doctor took a shaky breath. "I got it."

The heat suddenly intensified. Roger swore he could smell his own flesh burning and it made him want to vomit. He would give anything to bend over and hurl chunks all over the floor right now because bending over meant that the stupid vest was off of him and he could _breathe_ without inhaling his own ashes. He groaned, his feet nearly slipping out from under him. This desk was perhaps the only thing keeping him upright enough to see everyone's faces as they came to the same conclusion he had.

Thompson was pacing. Jarvis was fidgeting. The doctor was clueless. Sousa was sweating almost as much as Roger was. Carter was staring. The others were trying to leave as subtly as they could. Roger wanted to be angry, but he couldn't blame them for leaving. Not when he could explode at any moment. He wondered why the others were still here. Why Thompson was pacing instead of running in the other direction. _No self-preservation. The lot of them. Idiots_. But he was glad that he wouldn't be alone in his final moments.

He just wished he'd been able to say good-bye to Loretta and Emmett and Molly. Poor Molly. She'd been wanting to show him something for _ages_ and he kept putting it off because of this Stark business. _"I'm too busy right now, Sweetheart,"_ he'd say and every night she would sniff and leave him alone. Respect his wishes. Like the good, beautiful, _perfect_ little angel that she was. His heart ached for her and her brother and their mother. No matter what Loretta had done, Roger shouldn't have let that affect his relationship with the kids. His kids. His kids who would grow up without a father. _Oh God._

His heart was racing. He wasn't going to make it through this. He wasn't ever going to see his family again. He was never going to be able to apologize. To see what Molly had been so excited to show him. To go to Emmett's game next weekend and cheer him on. He'd promised he'd be there this time. He'd _promised_.

"Let's pack him with ice," blurted Carter. Her calm demeanor was starting to crack. He could hear it in her voice now. Or maybe that was wishful thinking after how he'd treated her. She deserved more than he could give her. He knew that now. He regretted every word he'd said to her. He only wished he could live long enough to take them back. "Perhaps we can cool the core." Bless her soul, at least she was _trying._

"The armour was designed to be impervious to all outside elements – whether it be artillery _or_ temperature," Jarvis informed mechanically. Roger was resisting the urge to strangle him.

Carter threw her head back with what looked like tears in her eyes. "Damn you, Howard!" He couldn't be imagining the hitch to her voice that time. She was torn up about this – about him. And she wasn't leaving. That told Roger all he needed to know about her.

The doctor was peering over his shoulder and observing him with almost morbid fascination. "My God, it's searing his skin."

_Thank you, genius. You're even smarter than Howard Stark!_ He thought bitterly, inhaling through clenched teeth.

"It's in the final stages," Jarvis announced, staring at Roger with something like pity or sympathy in his eyes. Roger was in too much pain to tell the difference. His thoughts felt so muddled that it was like trying to see through milk. "We're running out of time."

_How long?_ Roger desperately wanted to know. _How long until I can no longer think? No longer see my wife's face or feel my children in my lap or on my shoulders? No longer catch criminals and get immense satisfaction from doing so? No longer dance to Benny Goodman or listen to Orson Welles' radio shows? No longer take Loretta to the theatre or Emmett to baseball games? No longer breathe?_

The doctor kept looking and shaking his head, trying all different angles. Roger felt like a rat under a microscope. "I don't know what to do," the doctor confessed, brows furrowing slightly. _Join the club._

"What does that mean?" Thompson demanded angrily. He stepped forward menacingly, his interrogation methods coming into play. Roger felt an unexpected surge of pride swell his chest and he was almost afraid the vest would go off because of it. He was damn proud of his agents. His eyes strayed to Carter. All of them.

"It means that…" The doctor waves his hands, fumbling for words. "I don't know what to do!"

Roger's breathing was erratic. He just wanted to make the smell go away. He wanted to be _sure_ that no one else got hurt. Not because of him. He'd gotten himself into this mess, he was going to get himself out. There was only one way.

Resigned and surprisingly unafraid, Roger nodded, mostly to himself. He was going to do this. He was not going to let all these agents and doctors and civilians die with him. He was going to explode. There was no way to go around it. It was going to happen.

Roger Dooley was going to die.

Today.

In a matter of seconds.

He was going to make those seconds count.

"I know what to do," he breathed. He felt some warped sense of peace wash over him. He couldn't avoid the inevitable. "Here, give me a hand," he whispered hoarsely, trying to gesture with his head that he wanted to stand up straight and not at some weird forty-five degree angle.

No one moved.

"Give me a hand!" He ordered more insistently, though for a chief, it was one of the weakest orders he'd ever given.

Thompson moved over and pulled Roger upright as the chief unclamped his fingers from the desk. He wasted no time (there was so little left) and reached over Thompson's arm to his belt, where his gun hung in its holster. Thompson realized what he was doing too late and Roger wrapped his stiff fingers around the gun, yanking it out and stumbling back.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah!" Thompson cried, arms outstretched as if he could pull him back to safety. As if Roger was lost out to sea. If only it were that simple.

Carter was making odd breathing noises, trying to decide what she could say to diffuse the situation. Nothing could. Roger knew that with a certainty that scared him more than death itself.

He was far enough away now. No one could reach him and he still had the gun. He couldn't shoot himself. If the vest still blew up, everyone here would die. He wasn't going to let his agents go out like that. But he still needed the gun.

"T… T…" His lungs felt constricted enough to have gone a few rounds with a trash compacter. "Tell my wife…" He could barely inhale again to get the words out. What could he say? How could he make up for a year of distance? A year of harsh glares and cold shoulders? A year of barely eaten food and weekly accusation? What could he say to fix all of that? Nothing. There was nothing he could say. "Tell her I'm sorry," he pleaded. The room was so silent that his raspy breaths were amplified like radios on full volume. He wondered if Loretta would forgive him. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't. But then again, he hadn't really forgiven her either. In this moment, though… he did. "I missed dinner," he added. She would understand. He had missed a lot more than dinner.

Thompson, the toughest agent in Dooley's arsenal, looked like he was about to cry. Sousa wasn't much better, with his fists clenched on his desk and standing with his crutch forgotten at his side. Carter might actually_ be_ crying. "And you?" He said, nodding stiffly at her.

She gazed into his eyes with big brown irises full of tears, nodding to make sure he knew that he had her full attention. She cared about him. Despite the way he'd treated her, she cared about him. She really was a remarkable woman. If only it hadn't taken all of _this_ to make him see that. "_Promise_ me… you'll get the son of a bitch who did this." Roger wanted to twist Ivchenko's neck himself, but he was unable to. He was going to die.

Carter nodded, her curls bouncing. She looked like he had always seen her. She looked like a scared little girl. That wasn't what he needed. "Say it!" He ordered firmly.

She kept nodding. "We'll catch him," she promised.

That was enough for him. The vest was blinking rapidly. _Orange. Red. Orange. Red. OrangeRedorangeredorangered… _"Atta girl," he breathed in relief. He could go somewhat peacefully now. Carter and Thompson would catch this guy and they would avenge him. He had complete confidence in his agents.

He took a step back, blinking away his own sweaty tears. The vest was buzzing, humming, thrumming with life. It was going to go off. He only had a few seconds. He needed to do this _now_.

He raised his arm and fired the gun multiple times at the glass. He ran, still firing. Maybe this would make it hurt less.

"_Chief!"_ Screamed a grief-filled Peggy.

He kept running.

"Chief, no!"

"Chief!"

"Dooley!"

"Boss!"

"Don't do it!"

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Roger ignored them all, screaming over top of all of them. The vest was vibrating. Overheating. Roger's heart was _pounding_, hitting the vest as if it could attack the thing itself. Roger launched himself through the window. The glass shattered around him and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see New York as he died. He wanted his last memory to be of his agents if it couldn't be his family.

_I love you, Loretta_, he thought and to his shock, he meant it. _Emmett. Molly. I love you so much. Daddy's gonna miss you. You be good for your mother, okay? You'll see Daddy again someday._

He could almost hear Molly's voice. See her trembling bottom lip. _You promise?_

He felt suspended in midair, surrounded by shards of glass, flying. _I promise._

_**BOOM!**_


	8. Chapter 8: Dorothy Underwood

**A/N. Hello! Here we have Dottie Underwood! But just to be clear, Dorothy isn't actually her real name. She doesn't have one listed so I made one up. Her real name is now Inga Emilia Bazanova. Happy reading! :D**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Agent Carter and the last chapter with Chief Dooley was taken word for word from the actual show. I don't own the dialogue or any of the characters' actions or anything like that. Same with this chapter. It all happened in the show. Anyway, read on.**

Inga Emilia Bazanova could not remember further back than the day she woke up in the Red Room. She remembered opening her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. She remembered being cuffed to a bed – one of many. She remembered tugging on it in a sudden panic. She remembered Headmistress' footsteps as she strode calmly down the aisle of beds filled with girls her age. She remembered something about Red and then nothing more from that day.

She could not remember how she met her friend Anya. She only remembered that they were friends and that they both didn't remember anything before the Red Room. Inga liked Anya. Anya was nice. So Inga shared her bread with her. Anya slipped her notes sometimes after bed. Inga would strain to read the writing in the dark, but eventually she would understand and try to stifle her giggles.

Every morning, like clockwork, Headmistress strode in, threw open the curtains, and unlocked their handcuffs one by one. Headmistress was calm and rarely held an expression on her face. Inga often wondered how she did that.

Headmistress sacrificed her life to teach girls like Inga and Anya to be strong. Headmistress was the strongest of them all. Inga wanted to be strong like that someday. Headmistress said that there would be sacrifice, but Inga was willing to do whatever it took to be the best. To earn one of the few expressions on Headmistress' face: pride.

To have Headmistress' eyes sparkle at you was the greatest achievement any of the girls could ask for. It meant that you were strong. Powerful. Worthy. Inga wanted to be worthy. She wanted to be worthy so badly. She would do anything for that look.

Inga sat up in her bed and pulled a piece of bread from beneath her pillow. She'd stolen it from the kitchens last night and saved it for the morning. Headmistress said that they had to earn food by being good, but Inga was the best and she was always hungry. So she took matters into her own hands.

Anya sat up from the bed next to her, rubbing her wrists and eyeing the bread strangely.

Inga looked down at it. Anya was obedient too. Inga looked around to make sure Headmistress wasn't looking and tore the bread in half like she tore apart that dummy last week. She handed Anya the bread. Anya smiled. Inga smiled back.

Headmistress led the girls to the next room and watched them change with beady eyes that saw everything, making sure no one was hiding anything in their clothes. Inga put on her clothes with innocence and followed Headmistress to the classroom, Anya following close behind.

Headmistress explained that they would be learning English again today. This time, she was going to play a film and they were going to have to repeat every word said on screen until they had the entire film memorized and knew what it meant. Sometimes, Inga wondered where this film came from. Who made it? Who were the voices? Whose idea was it to draw Snow White?

Could Inga look like that? Could she walk like that? Talk like that? _Be_ like that?

Those questions vanished when the film reel rolled and the projection captured her attention.

By the time they finished learning English for the day, Headmaster had given out several lashings for mistakes in their English. Inga sat up straight, proud that she hadn't messed up once. The girls followed their Headmistress out the door, silent as the darkness in their room at night. No one ever spoke unless it was to learn English or to report something very important. Inga and Anya had never had a conversation – not a verbal one.

They followed Headmistress back to the changing room and switched into their sparring uniforms. Then they walked, single file, as always, through the hallways until they were outside under the glaring sun. They settled into a circle around the sparring ring and stood to watch the matches.

Headmistress called two girls to the ring: Maya and Ulyana. They fought fiercely and roughly. Blood was split within seconds. Maya was thrown to the ground in a heap of limbs. Headmistress shook her head. Ulyana returned to her spot in the circle. Maya was dragged off by Headmaster, limp and leaving behind a trail of blood not unlike a snail would its slime.

Inga didn't know how she knew what a snail was. When did she learn that?

She was up next. So was Anya. Anya looked afraid for a second, but then her features calmed and there was mask in place. Inga's mask was never off.

The two girls walked to opposite ends of the circle and turned to face each other. Headmistress watched with her hands folded behind her back, her face blank and her lips red. Inga had always wondered how she got her lips so red.

Headmistress nodded. Inga and Anya stepped back into their fighting stances. For a second, they stared, sizing each other up, looking for weak points. Inga wanted to be a Black Widow, but not just any Black Widow, THE Black Widow. To do that, she had to be the best. To be the best, she had to be better than everybody else. That included Anya.

Inga made the first move. She launched a kick at Anya's head with a determined cry. Anya blocked and stepped to the side. Inga followed. The two circled, switching sides. Inga threw one punch to the gut, then another to the ribs. Both were dodged with frustrating ease. Anya ducked under the second punch and threw one of her own to Inga's side. Inga grunted, but didn't let up. Anya grabbed her fist the next time she swung and twisted. Inga cried out.

She knew Headmistress wouldn't be impressed with that display of pain. Inga slammed her mask back down and attacked, shoving the pain to the back of her mind as adrenaline coursed through her. She kneed Anya in the stomach as hard as she could, making Anya release her fist. But then Anya managed to secure a palm strike to Inga's chin and she stumbled backward.

Inga's eyes glinted with fury and she threw a mean uppercut. It hit its mark and Anya doubled forward, shouting. Inga kicked and shoved her backward. Anya threw herself forward and Inga grabbed her hand and pushed it aside and across Anya's torso. She twirled Anya like in ballet and then punched her right in the nose. Blood spurted from Anya's nostrils and went _splat_ on the ground.

Inga felt nothing.

Anya growled and came back with a vengeance, throwing another palm strike, this time to Inga's cheek. Inga was furious with herself for leaving her face open. Inga wouldn't let it happen again. She bounced back quickly and threw two punches, but Anya grabbed both of Inga's wrists. Without wasting any time, she spun and flipped Inga over her shoulder with all her might.

Inga went with the motion and cartwheeled in the air before landing on her feet, wrenching her arms from Anya's grip in the process. Her hands were up less than a breath later, defensive and ready to fight again. Anya stepped forward menacingly and Inga reacted, stepping back, waiting for the blow. Anya seemed to hesitate. Or maybe she was taunting. Inga would never know.

Anya ran forward. Inga deflected her punch and grabbed Anya around the waist before throwing her to the ground. She raised her fist and punched Anya in the ribs, cracking her knuckles against bone. Anya shrieked below her, but Inga kept a tight grip on her twisted arm, refusing to let her up. With Anya incapacitated, Inga spun around and grabbed Anya in a headlock, one hand on her scalp. They hadn't been taught how to escape this yet. Inga had won.

Anya wasn't breathing. She was panicking, digging her nails into Inga's arms harshly enough to draw blood. Anya started to claw and scratch. She kicked out at nothing with her legs, wriggling and writhing. Inga held very still and looked to Headmistress, waiting for her order.

Headmistress tilted her chin up. She always did that before her eyes twinkled in pride. Headmistress gave a sharp nod.

Inga nodded back.

Anya grunted.

Inga twisted.

Neck snapped.

Corpse fell.

Inga _won._

**A/N. Stay tuned for Agent Peggy Carter :)**


	9. Chapter 9: Peggy Carter

**A/N. Here it is, guys! The final chapter. What we've all been waiting for: Peggy Carter. I wanted it take place during the final scene of the season (not counting the one with Zola) and then I liked the song and it turned into this. I've never done a song fic before (I don't think) so I hope I did okay. Let me know what you guys think! Hope you enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Agent Carter or Marvel's scripts**

_Someday when I'm awfully low_

_And the world is cold_

It was 1945. The war was still as present and pressing as always; an ever blowing gust of wind that tore through the streets, decimating homes and lives, never ceasing. Snow swirled in the powerful breeze, flakes dancing. Beauty that kills.

Barnes had tried to call Peggy that once. She had nearly clocked him, no matter how accurate the statement may have been. He was only safe because he was Steve's best friend and he probably wouldn't forgive her for hurting him. And maybe Barnes was charming in his own right.

But he was miles away, covering Steve with the Howling Commandos, with broken communication devices. They were due back days ago

Peggy was trying valiantly not to pace, but she was disguising it poorly. Instead of pacing, she stalked all over the camp, giving orders, taking them, dishing them out again. She had barked at several men (men who had been boys only months ago), ordering them to _do something_.

There was nothing anyone could do.

Hydra knew where they were. A scout of the Allies had spotted a scout of Hydra's and they both failed to take each other out. That was weeks ago, before Steve had left.

Hydra was coming.

Steve found out and immediately gathered his team together. They left as quickly as they could without rushing things and haven't been back since. They were just supposed to find the Hydra base before Hydra could find the Allies. But the storm was interfering with any and all communication and burying everything in several feet of snow.

Peggy couldn't remember ever feeling this cold. This was the only place she could wear pants for warmth and no one would give her funny looks because they _understood_. No one could possibly wear a skirt in this weather. She'd given up her heels for boots and hid her hair beneath a woollen hat. If most people didn't know any better, she could pass for a man at first glance, though the makeup sort of gave her away, even if it chipped and cracked like a mask falling away.

Her bones felt like brittle and her lips felt numb with cold. She felt ice all the way to her core and every time her heart beat, it was like a thud against a cube, trying to break free. Her skin was dry and her hair often froze and turned white with frost.

Fire couldn't be risked in fear of speeding up Hydra's impending attack. It loomed over their heads like unwanted smoke, lingering in the air wherever they went. They inhaled it no matter where they were: their doom.

Captain America had been their only hope to get the jump on Hydra and save thousands of men and he had disappeared beyond the German line. He was in enemy territory and Peggy was tearing her hair out in an effort not to run after him. That would be foolish.

But thinking of him… of the hope that he brought to this camp… of the faith she had in him… the faith Colonel Phillips had ridiculed… it made her heart beat faster. It made her blood pump harder. That ice cube around her heart… dripped, just a little.

If the only thing that could give her warmth was him, even if he wasn't here… she'd take it.

_I will feel aglow just thinking of you_

_And the way you look tonight_

She walked into that bar, dressed the way she was, because she knew he'd look. They all would. But they didn't matter. Only he did. She put on a bright red dress, matched it to her lipstick, her shoes, her purse, her _hair… _She couldn't remember the last time she'd put this much effort into an outfit for a man. Oh, now she remembered. _Never_.

But Steve was different. He wouldn't look at her like a piece of meat, not like those men he wanted on his team were. They weren't leering, but they were elbowing each other and very clearly staring. Barnes had his eyes fixed on her legs, but Steve… he started on the dress and worked his way up to meet her gaze, where his blue eyes remained for the rest of their conversation.

She felt a strange mix of flattery and pride at the way he looked at her. He looked at her like… like… like he wanted to kiss her. Like he wanted to take her in his arms and never let go. Like he might… feel very strongly about her.

She wanted to reach out, to stroke his cheek, to kiss him and make him smile and laugh, but she held back. Not here, in a stingy bar in Europe in front of every single male patron. She wanted their first kiss, their first date, to be private. She wanted it to be just Steve and Peggy, not Captain America and Agent Carter.

So she let herself feel confident and sexy and walked away, heels clicking and an almost-smirk gracing her ruby red lips.

_Oh but you're so lovely_

_With your smile so warm and your cheek so soft_

_There is nothing for me but to love you_

_Just the way you look tonight_

She looked a right mess. She clutched the letter in both hands, her red nails digging into the page already soggy from her tears. Hannah… Peggy's best friend… was dead. Hannah had been there for Peggy since they went to school together as children. Hannah and Peggy kept in touch with letters for the past decade, confiding everything to each other. Hannah had been the only one to understand what Peggy felt as a female agent.

Hannah had become a nurse in the military, which wasn't at all unusual for a woman, but Hannah knew how to fight. Hannah was always the one who wanted to fetch the soldiers from the trenches or the war zones directly. She knew how to fire a gun. How to take care of herself. But of course, no one would let her.

Then the one time she'd been able to go (on some sort of fluke, apparently)… she'd been shot.

Peggy wanted so badly to rip this paper in two, in four, in _one hundred_, but something held her back. Her hands shook so violently that she could barely read the neat handwriting – though that may have been the tears blurring her vision and stinging her eyes.

The tent flap opened and she whirled around, horrified at someone seeing her like this. The men already thought she was weak. They didn't need to see her at her weakest.

But it was Steve. As soon as he saw her, concern washed over his features and he stepped fully into her tent. "Peggy, what's wrong?"

Her lip trembled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. Crying made her weak. It made the boys at school pick on her. It made people see her as helpless. She _hated_ being helpless. But Steve knew that and he knew what she was capable of. He wouldn't put her down. He would bring her up.

She sobbed and dropped her face into her hands, thinking about how many letters she'd written to Hannah about Steve. About how Hannah had written back. About Hannah no longer receiving or sending any more letters because she was _dead_.

Big, warm arms wrapped around her and she fell into him, squeezing his middle tightly, trying to draw strength. She kept her crying quiet so that no one outside could hear, but inside, she was an absolute wreck.

Steve gently sat them down on her cot and cradled her. She didn't feel delicate or fragile or like he was protecting her. She felt comforted. That was all she could really ask for.

"Whatever it is, I'm here," he whispered softly, his breath brushing against her ear. "Whatever's upset you, you can tell me and I'll do my bet to make it go away."

She hiccupped a sort of laugh and sob. "You can't," she spoke brokenly.

"Doesn't mean I can't try," he replied.

She buried her face in his shoulder. "My best friend is dead."

"… oh."

She laughed weakly. "How eloquent of you."

He chuckled back. "Well… I can't say I can relate… but I _can _say that I'm here for you, Pegs. Whenever you need me. I'm here."

_With each word your tenderness grows_

_Tearing my fear apart_

_And your laugh that wrinkles your nose_

_Touches my foolish heart_

_ "… Peggy?"_

She sniffed quietly away from the microphone. "I'm here."

_"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."_

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to laugh. Nothing close to one came out. She let out a breath. She could pretend. For him. In his final moments. She could pretend. "Alright. A week next Saturday at the Stork Club."

_"You got it."_

_No. I don't._ "Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you _dare_ be late." If this were really happening and he _was_ late… she would probably kiss him anyway. "Understood?"

_"You know… I still don't know how to dance."_

That nearly broke her. She had never taught him. All this time… she could have at least shown him something. At the bar, with all the men watching… who cared if they saw? But she chose to make their first dance private and because of that… he was going to die without one. "I'll show you how," she promised. Her voice sounded broken even to her. Just like her heart. "Just _be there._"

He paused and for one, heart-stopping moment… she thought she'd lost him. _"We'll have the band play something slow."_

She imagined it. She'd wear that red dress. He'd be in a nice suit. Not his uniform, just a suit. The lights would be dim. She would take his hands and place them properly. He would try not to step on her toes (and fail). She'd laugh and brush it off, simply admonishing him. Dancing at bars was usually fast-paced and crazy, but she could easily picture him mastering the slow dance. Swaying back and forth… Him twirling her… Her blushing for the first time in forever… Him looking at her like he always did… She'd lean in…

_"I wouldn't want to step on your- **CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!**"_

Her heart stopped. "Steve?!" She brought the microphone closer to her lips, almost tasting the metal, as if it could bring him closer. "Steve!" Radio silence.

She broke.

"… Steve?"

_Lovely, never, never change_

_Keep that breathless charm_

_Won't you please arrange it 'cause I love you_

_And the way you look tonight_

The wind blew a gentle gust over New York City – over Brooklyn. The war was over, but some of the destruction yet remained. The decimation you couldn't see was always the hardest to bear. Peggy's heart felt like it was a war zone, but after a year of "peace"… it felt like there was no longer a war to be fought.

Her hair rustled gently as she walked onto the bridge, gripping the vial in her pocket so tightly that she thought it might shatter in her hand. She felt an echo of the cold even with the sun blazing down upon her pale skin. The cold reminded her of worse times – times when soldiers, boys, men died. Times when the only thing that could keep her warm was Steve.

Now… she realized that more than one person could make her glow. Angie had proved that with her kindness and her blind faith in Peggy. Mr. Jarvis made her laugh even if he frustrated her the other half of the time. Howard made her roll her eyes affectionately. Daniel made her feel like she was radiant. Jack made her feel like she was worth something and that he knew it.

It was a start to thawing out her frozen heart.

She slowed to lazy amble alongside the railing of the bridge and then came to a stop. She stared out at the beautiful sunset, lighting up the sky with pinks and purples and oranges and blues. It was the end of another day. It would soon be the start of another one.

But this sunset… it would be her last one wishing Steve would come back. She couldn't daydream about his return anymore. She couldn't long to say "You're late." She had to accept that he wasn't coming back. And the only way to do that… was to literally let him go.

Slowly, she pulled the vial from her pocket. She stared at it. His blood. An actual part of Steve that had swam through his body when they'd kissed. When they'd touched. When they'd laughed. This was _him_ in a bottle. It was all she would ever get of him. If she could keep it, to remind herself…

No. The serum was too dangerous. No one could get their hands on it. Ever. The only way to make sure that never happened… was to get rid of it.

She didn't want to. Oh, how she didn't want to. She wanted to cling to this vial and never let go. She wanted to ignore all rhyme and reason and just hold him. She wanted him to come back. That would never change. But she had to quash the hope that someday he _would_, no matter what her heart told her. Science trumped feelings this time, unfortunately.

She reached out and popped the lid off the vial. _I don't want to leave you. _She wanted to see him again. Just one last time. Maybe… she could make one last wish. Just this once. _Come back to me_.

The wind blew again, gently caressing her cheek.

She tilted the vial. Slowly. Delicately.

Red poured from the end and splashed into the waters below, washed away immediately in a sea of blue and white. How fitting.

_I will always miss you._

She blinked furiously… then let go. The vial tumbled through the air for one precious second.

It sank below the surface inaudibly.

He was gone.

"Bye, my darling," she whispered to him.

Slipping her hands into her pockets, she looked out at the sun once more, thinking of the people she had left in this world. For the first time in a long while, she felt the heat inside and out.

_Oh, but you're lovely_

_With your smile so warm and your cheek so soft_

_There is nothing for me but to love you_

_Just the way you look tonight_

_Just the way you look… tonight_


End file.
